Absently, she rested her hand on her sweater-covered tummy, where the baby had really started to show by now. All Holly’s curves were beginning to pop, mostly because Bo had started to become vigilant about keeping her well fed.
“Doctor’s orders,” he always said just before getting that tender look that seemed to disappear before it lasted too long.
His gaze softened now, too, as he glanced at her belly. Holly wished he could see that it was okay to touch her.
Wasn’t it okay?
Couldn’t it be?
When the crowd settled down, Bo wrapped up tonight’s speech, flashes from cameras lighting him like more pulses that echoed in Holly.
“The time is coming,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “We’ve done our best in these endeavors so far. But I’m going to ask you for one more thing, folks. I need that extra push only you can give to me. Just one more heave-ho behind our campaign wagon. One more huge effort down this last mile—”
A male voice emerged from the group. “One more trick to get him across the finish line!”
Everyone froze, including Holly and Bo. A bad vibe skittered up Holly’s spine.
The speaker didn’t sound like a supporter.
Rose Friedel even sidled up to Holly, taking up her side, as if sensing the same.
But Bo didn’t lose his cool. He merely smiled at the rest of his supporters and shrugged modestly, as if communicating that there was one in every crowd.
The speaker continued before Bo could talk again.
“Tell us—how far would you go to be mayor? Would you even stage a fake marriage so that—”
The crowd’s voices drowned out the heckler.
Rose held Holly’s hand, but Bo was already talking into the microphone, his voice graveled with that same grit Holly had only heard during his most emotional moments.
“Don’t speak against my wife and child.”
He had his finger raised, and it seemed as if he was ready to bolt into the audience, taking this up face-to-face with the so-far anonymous heckler.
But he was acting, Holly told herself. He was only acting like this was an affront. Like he…cared.
Still, it seemed as if he truly was angry as his skin turned ruddy, his jaw tight.
His voice even rougher.
“I don’t mind your coming here to give me a little run for my money,” he said to the faceless aggressor. “But when it comes to my family, back off, understand? Holly is…”
He cut himself off, staring at the ground, as if gathering himself. Rose put her arm around Holly, whose heart was beating its way up her throat.
“My wife is more than a man like me could’ve ever hoped for,” Bo finally said. “She puts others far above herself. She’s kind and optimistic and so beautiful inside and out that I thank my lucky stars every single night that she decided to even give me the time of day.”
She wished he meant it. God, she wished it so badly, and she had no idea how that had happened. How she’d let it.
“So, sir,” Bo continued, getting control of his tone, pushing his cowboy hat back a little on his head. “I’m partial to giving second chances, especially since I truly believe that you spoke in error. But know this.”
He lowered his voice to a pitch Holly had never heard before and hoped she would never hear again.
“I won’t tolerate another ugly word about the people I hold dear. Not a word. Understand?”
His supporters exploded into cheers, which quickly transformed to more fervent chants of “Bo! Bo!” than ever before.
He stared down the heckler, who’d been isolated by a group of supporters as the guy, who wore a straw hat, parted the crowd on his way out of the rally. Then Bo turned, making eye contact with Rose, who guided Holly to a mini set of stairs that led off of the truck and toward Bo’s waiting black SUV that would take them to campaign headquarters.
Bo hadn’t looked at Holly though. Not even close.
And she was glad for that, because she hadn’t wanted him to see how shaken she was. How…
She didn’t know. Didn’t know anything anymore.
After Bo sat in the backseat with Holly, shutting the door with a bang, Rose drove them away. He still didn’t look at Holly, even as she finally summoned the strength to want him to.
What had this all meant?
And why had it sounded as if…
Stop it, she told herself, holding her stomach, just like she could shield the baby from her thoughts. Don’t talk yourself into thinking that Bo was doing anything more than campaigning.
If she started to believe that he cared, she would only get stomped on again when she’d barely even repaired herself from Alan’s betrayal.
And she feared it would hurt much worse this time, because Alan wasn’t Bo.
As they drove, no one—not Bo, Holly nor Rose—had anything to say until they arrived at headquarters, where they ensconced themselves in the back office with the door closed.
The lighthearted Bo was all gone, leaving a pacing, barely contained man in his place.
“That was Arthur Swinton’s work,” he said.
Holly sat in the chair in front of his desk, her limbs weak. It was as if she was watching everything from a near distance, and if she hadn’t known what was going on, she would’ve said that Bo genuinely was furious.
Rose sure treated him as if he needed some assuaging. She had the tone of a lion tamer.
“It’s over, Bo, and you handled the situation like a pro.”
“A pro?”
He halted. Then it happened.
He looked at Holly.
Her stomach flipped when she saw something similar there to what she’d witnessed the night she’d gone to the doctor without telling him.
Something heartfelt and profound.
Something…
Holly felt Rose focus on her now, too, and when she glanced at the older woman, she read her expression quite clearly.
Astonishment.
Don’t dare think it. Don’t start believing that Rose believes there’s more to this marriage than fakery.
Bo spoke. “I’m not only going to wring Swinton’s neck for planting that howler, but for having that fool cast any dirt whatsoever on Holly and the baby. My family’s off-limits.”
“Bo, calm down,” Rose said. “You—”
“Enough.” Bo raised his hands. “Matters have gone too far. I shouldn’t have ever brought Holly and the baby into this, and maybe now’s the time to call off this entire charade. I won’t see them dragged through any more mud.”
“And lose the election?” Rose asked. “Because that’s what would happen.”
An expression of such loss crossed Bo’s face that Holly flashed to the night when he had talked about his uncle’s and Andre Julen’s murders—his passion for what was right. His agonizing determination to make sure nothing unjust ever happened again in Thunder Canyon. His plans to make everything better.
“Don’t you call anything off,” Holly said. “Don’t you quit on me.”
He lowered his hands, as if hardly believing what he was hearing.
God, had she really said that?
“Quit on…you?” he asked.
Exposed—completely, utterly revealed for what she had come to feel for this man.
That flush attacked her again. “Quit on any of us.”
The lie didn’t sit well, but this wasn’t the time to complicate the situation. She wouldn’t let him hear what was in her heart…not all of it. But she couldn’t let him sabotage his campaign because of one setback.
Holly scooted forward in her seat. “When you first came to me with this proposal, I thought you were full of it. Then…”
“Then…?” It was a rough whisper.
Holly swallowed, feeling as if she was getting in further by the moment.
“Then,” she said, “I started to believe in what you stood for. I saw that you might be a lot of smooth talk on the outside, but inside?” She touched he
r heart. “Here? You had everything that counts. Everything we need here in Thunder Canyon.”
He looked at her, into her, as if he was asking, “Everything we need? Or everything you need?”
A slow melt made Holly liquid, made her all his.
She couldn’t deny it any more—not only did she believe in Bo, she’d fallen for him. Hard. Fast. Undoubtedly.
Inside her belly, the baby jostled around, as if he or she was snuggling up to her realizations. Heat pricked her eyes as she glanced away from Bo.
Love. She’d fallen in love with her husband of convenience just when it was the least convenient.
She heard Bo moving around, going to the office door, opening it, but she didn’t look up. Not even when Rose rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, as if she’d recognized Holly’s pain.
As if she was sorry it had happened, too.
As Bo drove home, Holly remained quiet in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the moonlit grasses, the passing fences.
The silence was killing him, especially after tonight, when there was so much that should be said. So much that couldn’t be voiced because it would change everything.
And change wasn’t what they needed. Not the two of them.
“I was thinking of painting the baby’s room the day after the election,” he said, hoping to ease the tension with business. Plans upon plans. “We can use that duckling yellow color you saw in the catalog.”
About a week ago, he’d approached her about the décor, and she’d also loved the old-fashioned bear idea, although he got the feeling that she was just being adaptable, seeing as the baby wouldn’t live in the nursery for too long.
A pang hit him, but it made no sense when, all this time, he’d known they would go.
He injected some levity into his tone. “Painting might console me if I lose.”
More silence, and it gave him enough time to realize that he’d meant losing the election. But now, loss had another meaning for him.
Holly. Hopper.
So what if he kept thinking he saw glimmers of affection in Holly every time he glanced at her? Or if she’d seemed to reveal so much more tonight when she’d talked about believing in him…
He didn’t say anything more, because he had been the one who’d said too damned much earlier, ripping himself open and defending Holly to that heckler who’d crashed the rally.
Bo gripped the steering wheel. He’d sure sounded like a man in love with Holly. But even worse, her faith in him touched him where no one had ever gone before.
Over the line, he thought. He’d definitely crossed a boundary tonight, and it had to stop here, while he still had a chance of scrambling back over to sane territory.
Holly finally responded to his nursery comments, although she was still facing the window, not him.
“I’m on board with whatever colors you like.”
Helpless as to what to do, Bo kept driving. And when they finally, thankfully entered the house, Holly didn’t even take off her coat. She went straight for the wraparound porch, and Bo took this as a hint that she wanted to be alone.
Had everything become too much for her?
Great—here, he’d told her that marrying him would alleviate her stress, not multiply it.
He went to the kitchen, but it wasn’t because he was hungry. He’d noticed that Holly hadn’t eaten since lunch, so he put together a turkey sandwich on wheat bread with all the trimmings and took the tin plate plus a glass of orange juice to the porch. After he delivered it, he would scoot, giving them both the privacy and recovery they sorely needed.
He found her sitting in a cedar chair, her coat bundled around her, the moon shining down on her blond curls and twisting his heart into swerves he’d never be able to negotiate, even if he tried.
“Here you go,” he said, sliding the plate onto her lap and waiting for her to grab it before he let go. He set the juice on the wide armrest next to her.
“I’m not very hungry.”
“Your doctor would disagree.”
The creek burbled by, providing all the chatter that they couldn’t seem to conjure up until Holly thanked him, as if seeking the easiest way out of this and hoping he would leave without more fuss.
But she didn’t touch her food. Was she expecting him to go first?
Well, he would oblige her, just as soon as he was assured that she was comfortable.
“It’s cold out here,” he said. “I can get you a blanket. Or maybe you should just—”
“You and your manners.”
He tucked his hands below his armpits under his coat, barring himself until he realized what he was doing and loosened up.
“What’s wrong with being a gentleman?” he asked.
“It’s just that a polite gentleman is all you are when we get out of the public’s gaze. When we’re out there—” she motioned toward the world “—you’re more of an actual family man, closer and more affectionate, than you are here.”
What?
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I knew what I was signing up for. It’s just that…” She leaned back her head and rested it against the chair, so weary that it stung him. “I’m tired of the playacting, Bo.”
He tried not to fall into the hole in the ground that had suddenly opened beneath his boots.
Tired…? Playacting…?
This wasn’t good, having her say these things. Wasn’t good at all.
“Then I was right,” he said. “When I told you that I should call things off before they go too far, I was right.”
She stood, the plate and sandwich falling to the deck with a clang, and Bo dropped his hands down to his sides when he saw the look on her face.
Fiery.
He realized that she wasn’t just angry at him—this was a woman who knew what she wanted, and though he’d seen flashes before of what that might be, he still couldn’t believe it.
Him? She wanted her not-really husband?
His common sense told him to walk away. To run. But he stayed rooted, each second like a ball bouncing down a stairway, faster, heavier, coming to some kind of end.
“Bo,” she said, “I don’t think you understand what I’m telling you.”
“Holly…”
“I said I’m tired of playacting, but I’m not talking about the charade.” She took a big breath, then blew it out. “I’ve had it with trying to hide what’s really going on in me…what I’m feeling.”
“Let’s just go inside.” Maybe she would rethink what she was saying if he could stall long enough…
“Would you just listen? I saw something in your defense of me this evening, at the rally. What you said…What you told that guy…” She straightened her spine. “There’s more to this marriage than a sham, and we both know it.”
Oh, damn—there it was.
Adrenaline infused him, making his heartbeat feel like an electric saw, spinning until it was nothing but a dangerous, cutting buzz that split him down the middle.
Half of him wanted to take her into his arms and never let go, kissing her until she had to gasp for breath, feeling her in places that he’d made himself forget during the stillness of each night, when he dreamed about her.
But the other half…
It was this part that made him walk away, following the urgent demands of his survival instincts—the common sense that had kept him a bachelor for so long, a man whose heart was still intact.
She followed him into the house, slamming the porch door behind her until the glass rattled.
“You get back here, Bo.”
“You’ll come to your right mind in the morning, after we slumber this off.”
“Just like every night, right? Don’t you tell me that you’re not thinking about me while you try to sleep down the hallway.”
He was in that hallway now, but he could hear her on his tail.
Damn it.
As he passed her room, he could smell her: the honeyed scent that had consumed him every day since
she’d come back to Thunder Canyon.
Dizzy with it, he slowed, just as if the heaviness of her scent dragged him down.
Lifted him up.
She caught him, grabbing him by the coat and pulling him back.
“We’re getting this out in the open and we’re doing it now,” Holly said. “Because we’re not putting a premature end to this marriage, this ‘charade’ or whatever you want to call it.”
He was almost to his room…
But Holly was a willful one, and she tugged him so hard that he spun around.
And before he knew it, she was kissing him.
At the end of his rope, Bo couldn’t do anything but bury his fingers into her curls, feeling the silk of them. The heaven of them.
And he kissed his wife right back, every blazing cell of his body hers.
Chapter Nine
As Holly sank against Bo, she told herself that she had only chased him down because of those damned pregnancy hormones—and because of being with him 24/7, night in and night out.
Both had driven her to the edge—to rash action and fevered need. They were the reasons that every inch of her body was churning, flipping, rearranging in such a rush and burn that she could barely move as Bo’s lips sipped at hers, a combination of gentleness and insistence.
Of worship and heat.
He kissed her as if it was the first and last time he’d ever kissed anyone—as if he needed to handle her like a breakable creature while he held himself back, refusing to harm her.
But she was already breaking as he kissed her, his fingers caught in her hair, his breathing ragged as he ran his mouth over hers.
Then he pulled back from her, recovering from the desperation of their kiss.
“Don’t stop,” she said, not realizing that she’d voiced it until it echoed off the walls.
And she was glad she’d told him. Glad this was finally happening. “We need to stop right now,” he whispered. “Or else I won’t be able to. I don’t know if we should even be doing th—”
She gripped the lapels of his coat. She knew what she needed.
Knew what he did, too, no matter what her common sense was telling her.
When the Cowboy said “I Do” Page 12
