Bo didn’t know if he could hate anyone more than he did himself at this moment.
“What I mean,” he said, trying to soften the situation, “is that this backache and nausea from this morning might be directly tied to physical activity.”
“Dr. Aberline said that I could be careful on the…honeymoon.” She glanced at the table. “That sex is okay as long as it isn’t too strenuous. She said that I might not be too in the mood for making love, anyway, but…”
But he knew from reading that some women’s hormones revved up. And he did that to Holly.
“You’re going into your eighth month,” he said in a last ditch effort. “We should be as careful as possible.”
She kept her head lowered, but she nodded again.
His relief at her agreement didn’t wipe away that self-disgust that had taken root in him, the feeling that they hadn’t solved anything between them.
He rose from his chair, intending to prepare the rest of dinner, but then she spoke.
“Bo? I wanted to ask you. This morning…The notes…”
He didn’t move.
“I’m…” She set both of her hands on the table, as if to prime herself. “I’m wondering if last night meant anything to you.”
Crash.
Too late to run, because that weight that had been pressing down on him all day had fallen, pinning him.
“It’s just,” she continued, “that I woke up this morning and you were gone.”
When she finally met his gaze, her eyes were such a sad blue that Bo wanted to reassure her, tell her that he was still here, even if she couldn’t have all of him.
But he kept his distance. It was an act of pure will, a point of survival, because if he touched her, he would never come back from it.
In the back of his mind, he saw his mom and dad sitting at this same dinner table, a chasm between them even though they were only a few feet apart as they ate in silence after realizing that they shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place.
“Holly,” Bo said, venturing all he could without stepping back over the line with her, “I hope you don’t think I left because I regret last night. You’re more than a man like me could’ve ever hoped for.”
When Bo realized that his words echoed those he’d said to the heckler at the campaign rally, he left the room, unable to bear the look he knew he would see on her face.
As well as the expression he was afraid she would see on his.
The next days teemed with so many items on Holly’s to-do lists that she and Bo barely saw each other.
Then again, maybe that was for the best. From the talk she’d had with Bo on the night after they’d made love, she didn’t have a heck of a lot of optimism about where their marriage stood.
She had come on strong to him, thinking that he’d wanted sex just as much as she did, and he hadn’t been cruel enough to tell her the truth about why he wouldn’t go to bed with her again. Instead, he’d conjured up that “no sex because of the baby” excuse. She was sure of it. He was doing everything he could not to come straight out and say what he really meant: that he didn’t do long-term. That she wasn’t really even his type, except that she had forced the issue between them, and what man could resist such a willing woman?
But she was a woman who was in control. And even if she couldn’t figure out how her feelings fit into the big picture with Bo, she would live.
She would deal.
Yet, much to her dismay, her growing feelings for him wouldn’t die, and she kept thinking that maybe, after the election, their relationship would have the room to breathe a little, to clarify itself. But the election seemed like such a long way off, even though it was only a few days away.
At any rate, before the big day came, she would have to get through the rest of the campaigning—tonight in particular.
The Halloween fund-raiser for Bo’s cause.
The last big hurrah.
It arrived just as quickly as every night seemed to, and as Holly stood in the midst of Thunder Canyon Resort’s grand lobby, she slowed down by pouring herself a plastic glass of orange punch at the buffet table, then taking a good look around.
The big elk sculpture had been decorated with little floating ghosties, the fireplace hung with sprawling black spider webs. A DJ had been hired to play songs like “Monster Mash,” and everyone who supported Bo had arrived in full costume.
Near the foot of the stairway, Erika waved to Holly from amongst a group of other women. Her friend had dressed as a lace-mantilla-wearing senorita, which went along well with her fiancé’s Zorro costume. Dillon was off somewhere else at the moment though, not that Erika seemed to mind as she chatted with Tori Jones, with her free-spirited gypsy costume, and Haley Anderson, who had seized the opportunity to play a vampiress for the night. Somewhere around here, both women’s costumed significant others were in full garb, too: Connor McFarlane, the reluctant, leather-coated gypsy man, and Marlon Cates, Van Helsing to Haley’s vamp.
Holly further scanned the crowd, finding Grant and Steph Clifton—Buffalo Bill and Calamity Jane—nearby, but she didn’t see the person she was really looking for.
Just as the world got a bit less interesting, she discovered her husband emerging from a crowd of young supporters, his very presence spiking the energy level in the room.
And in Holly.
He was dressed in a Prince Charles uniform—in the dark, blue-sashed, gold-braided, ribbon-medaled suit the royal had worn during his wedding to Diana—and he was…dashing.
So handsome, so cowboy noble in all his regalia, even while still wearing that darned Stetson.
It felt as if Holly’s heart was shrinking and expanding all at the same time. But how was that possible? How could she be punctured yet still so in love?
She set down her punch on the table before it slipped from her hand. All she needed was to ruin her Princess Di wedding gown. Ruin the night altogether.
Rose, who’d decided that she would make a grand Queen Elizabeth II in her crown, sash and royal dress, came to the buffet table, standing next to Holly with a plate of buffalo wings and an orange frosted cupcake.
“You look lonely over here.”
“Lonely in a crowd? How can that be?” Holly said it lightly, but the meaning hung heavily in the air.
The other woman smiled at her. Rose had been doing that a lot lately, especially once the Charles and Di costumes had been delivered. She had ordered them just after Bo and Holly’s own wedding, looking far ahead to the Halloween fund-raiser with the idea of carrying through with the whole Windsor fairy tale romance theme that the press had created. The other day, Rose had even offered to replace these Charles and Di costumes, but Holly had declined.
She would deal.
As she swallowed away a lump in her throat, she added, I should admit to a work of fiction when I’m in one.
The sooner she accepted that a constructed story was all her relationship with Bo would ever be, the better, right? But then she would remember what Bo had said to her when he had been on his knees, just before they made love, with his hands cupping her stomach.
You’re everything I could ever imagine.
With all her heart, she believed that he had meant it, but the more days that went by, the more she knew that Bo wasn’t the same man he’d been that night. In the long run, he wasn’t built to be that guy, and he’d told her as much before she’d ever led him to her bed. He’d said he wasn’t the marrying type, and she should’ve listened. She just hadn’t wanted to.
Rose was obviously intent on taking Holly’s mind off of anything heavy, thank goodness, and she gestured to a single man who was lingering near the lobby’s entrance. He was costumed in a Lone Ranger outfit, complete with a half-mask, holsters and red kerchief. Strands of silver hair peeked out from under his white hat.
Holly would recognize him anywhere. “Are you kidding? Is that Arthur Swinton?”
Rose had trouble holding back a chuckle.
“Good heavens,” Holly said. “He’s subtle, isn’t he? Or was he invited through some sort of ridiculous error?”
“Not invited. My guess is that he’s slinking around to gauge the crowd and the amount of support they’re throwing behind Bo. And from that frown, I’m going to say Swinton’s worried about the momentum Bo seems to have gained lately. I’ll be keeping my eye on him as long as he’s here.”
When Bo’s voice interrupted, Holly realized that Rose had distracted her well enough so that she hadn’t seen him crossing the room.
“Keeping your eye on who, Rose?”
Holly’s pulse gave a mighty yank.
“Swinton,” Rose said.
Bo subtly followed the direction of his manager’s nod, and when he saw Swinton, he grinned. Then he reached over Holly, brushing against her puffed bridal sleeve as he went for a cup of punch.
She smelled him—musk, soap—and the night they’d been together came crashing back to her, a wave of drowning remembrance.
It seemed as if he felt it, too, because he hauled in a long breath, then stood away from her.
A safe distance, she thought. Their modus operandi.
Rose said, “Swinton’s not our only mystery guest tonight.”
“Who else crashed our party?” Bo asked.
Rose gestured toward the stairway, where a few couples loitered near the top—Matt Cates dressed in Paul Bunyan flannels and accompanied by his occasional girlfriend Christine Mayhew, who’d taken the sexy route and assumed the guise of a svelte kitty cat. Next to them, a lone woman took her time descending the steps. A woman in a feathered mask, dressed all in white, like a swan.
“Erin Castro,” Rose said. “But she was invited.”
Bo frowned. “I thought she didn’t want anything to do with my campaign.”
Rose had approached her about doing a PR spot for Bo, one in which she could give a testimonial about what made Thunder Canyon great, why she’d moved here and decided to stay.
“You’re right, Erin declined any part of our PR,” Rose said. “I get the feeling she’s skittish about revealing much about herself.”
“Well, you read people pretty well, so I wouldn’t doubt it,” Bo said.
Holly wasn’t too bad at reading, either, and the palpable tension that stood between her and Bo made her think that he just as aware of her as she was of him.
Just as needful…
Rose planted her long-gloved hands on her hips. “Erin’s interesting to read. She asked a few questions about you and the other Cliftons, Bo, and I couldn’t help thinking her interest was somehow…noteworthy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t say what it was exactly. But there’s something about Erin Castro…”
She stopped talking, smiling instead, and Holly knew that it was because someone was approaching.
The Lone Ranger, Arthur Swinton.
The older man tipped his hat to Holly, then to Rose. He did no such thing for Bo.
“Quite a party,” he said. “Then again, Bo, I’m sure you’re well versed in throwing decadent shindigs.”
“I’m adept at a good many things, Arthur, one of which is going to be leading Thunder Canyon out of the muck.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Although Swinton was smiling below his half-mask, Holly detected anxiety around the lines of his mouth.
With that, he made his way through the crowd, toward the door.
Bo watched him go, and Rose tweaked his sleeve.
“He came over just to see if he could rattle you,” she said. “We’ve got him.”
“It’s not over ’til it’s over.”
As if some kind of social dam had been broken, a reporter, who, like the other members of the press here, hadn’t dressed up, came over with his camera. He held it up, just as Rose followed in Swinton’s wake, probably to see that he made it out of the party without causing any kind of ruckus.
“How about some photos of the royal couple?” the journalist asked.
“Of course,” Bo said.
Holly put on her best wife smile. It felt so out of place, even if she’d gotten so proficient at it.
Yet the second Bo nestled his arm around her, it was the real thing—a flow of silent sighs that infused her, making her weak.
When Bo smiled down at her, she bit her lower lip to keep it from shaking. And when she thought she saw something in his gaze—a darker shade of blue, a flicker of confusion that she was feeling, too—Holly unthinkingly rested her arms around his waist.
For a series of flashes, she believed that Bo might even kiss her, here, now, in spite of his determination not to have any more physical play.
His lips parted, as if he was imagining the night they’d been together, and she tilted her chin, raising herself to him, ready, hoping…
“Bo,” said a reporter, cracking open the moment and snagging Bo’s gaze away from her. “How’s marriage for the former bachelor?”
Holly swallowed, a flush consuming her.
Had anyone noticed what she’d revealed?
A crowd had gathered near them, as if drawn by the fantasy of their romance. Townspeople she’d grown up with, their hands cupped over their hearts, smiling at how life had turned out for the girl they’d seen mature.
Funny, Holly thought. At home, there was a moratorium on romance between her and Bo, but here, in front of everyone, they were a romantic dream come true, just like Charles and Di. All glamour on the outside, all sadness underneath.
Bo turned on the charm for the crowd. “Marriage?”
He glanced down at Holly, and there was that look again—the gentleness, the…
She wouldn’t think it was love, not like she’d made the mistake of doing with Alan.
Bo’s gaze grew serious as he completed his thought to the public. “If I’d known marriage would be like this, I would’ve done it much sooner.”
Everyone laughed as more bulbs tried to shed light on them.
“But,” Bo added, resting his fingers on Holly’s cheek, his touch burning, “I suppose I had to wait for my wife to come to her senses and have me. The wait sure was worth it though. Believe me.”
His gaze devoured her, and Holly gave him everything back in her own look.
Anything you want, Bo. I’d give you that and more if you’d only have me.
“Bo!” another reporter shouted. “Have you checked in with the news in the last fifteen minutes? According to a poll conducted by your town paper, you’re the front-runner! What do you think of that?”
A cheer—and it wasn’t just from the crowd. It welled up in Holly, too.
When Bo scooped her into an impulsive hug, she knew it was really him doing it, not her supposed husband.
She hugged him back, whispering in his ear, “Congratulations.”
He palmed the back of her head, careful of her full Princess Di veil, careful of the baby, whose bump skimmed him.
So real…
All too soon, other reporters were lobbing questions at Bo, and he had to speak loudly to answer.
“Here’s the reason for my success!” he said, smiling at Holly. “A good woman by the side of every man!”
She wanted to believe in that, but every stab of a flash was like a knife to her heart, and she wondered just how much of these lies she could take before she bled out altogether.
Chapter Eleven
On election day, Bo stood, too agitated to sit, while he stared at his private office windows in campaign headquarters. He’d closed the blinds for isolation as he listened to the local radio station, awaiting word of the final vote count, which would come at any time now.
He wished Holly was in here with him. She had only gone to get coffee from the main area outside, where his volunteers were listening to the broadcast, too, but Bo didn’t want to hear the results without her, maybe because they had become such a team. Because they had worked so hard to get here. Because…
He flailed for a better answer as a
soft knock rattled the door.
When Holly came inside, holding a cup of coffee for him, the sound of the droning radio seemed to disappear into the back of Bo’s head.
It happened every time he saw her—the world, falling away in layers to reveal his wife at the center.
But, as always, he bound everything right back up and, instead, smiled at her in thanks as she handed over the beverage.
She returned his smile, and he thought of how she looked like a real politician’s wife tonight, in a cranberry suit with a faux-fur collar. The material swaddled her bump, and Bo wouldn’t be surprised if the press celebrated her taste in chic baby suits by plastering more starry-eyed pictures of him and her across the media landscape.
Western Royals, they’d taken to calling the Bo Cliftons. A fairy-tale happily ever after. Why just look at how the two of them gazed at each other, touched each other…
“Don’t be nervous,” Holly said.
“I’m not.”
He drank some of the coffee. Strong and black…she knew how he preferred it. She’d come to know a lot about him except for the most important parts—the ones he wished he could share with her.
But he knew what was best for him…for them…in the long run, and it wasn’t him trying in vain to be a husband or dad.
“You’re totally nervous,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Maybe a little.” He grinned. “It’s not over ’til it’s over.”
Holly laughed. “Rose and I have told you a million times—all the early polls say you’ve got it in the bag. You’ve heard it on the radio, too.”
“I try not to count my chickens before they hatch, though I don’t mind rushing the hatching along. You know me that well, Holly.”
His last words were like a specter that had hung around after Halloween.
You know me…
Her eyes had gotten that melancholy cast to them again, as if she was remembering that they didn’t really know each other at all and he was doing his best to make sure of it.
Just as his heart started to drag him down, his cell phone rang.
He and Holly glanced at each other before he answered it. She watched him, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
When the Cowboy said “I Do” Page 15
