by Patt Marr
“Any knight would, with a princess so fair.”
“The queen was ecstatic that the princess had snagged such an eligible knight, and the princess thought she was in love.”
“Thought?”
“Yes, the poor twit didn’t examine her feelings too closely, being so caught up in receiving unusual approval from her parents and being the object of this handsome knight’s affection. It was only natural that when he gave her a big fat diamond, she accepted.”
“Under those conditions, what princess wouldn’t?”
“The princess helped Sir Skuzz campaign for the next year and a half. Once he was elected, the queen worked on a June wedding and the princess worked on her golf game. Royal wives don’t play a lot of basketball, you know.”
“I suppose not. Was the princess happy?” Her answer was important to him.
“Well, she thought she was.”
That wasn’t good enough, not by a long shot.
“Fortunately, she attended a very good church and got to know the Lord. After she jilted Sir Skuzz, things really got better. The Lord gave her a good job, and she became the famous coach of the San Josita Tigers who came from behind and unexpectedly won the regional championship. Ta-dah. The end.”
“Can’t be. The Three Bears is a longer story than that.”
“You could have had The Three Bears.”
“Heard it before. Your story was better.”
Her head lay on his shoulder, and he nestled his chin against her forehead, knowing this very good girl deserved so much better than she’d had.
Why would a mother insist on calling a child Alexandra, especially when the child’s big, beautiful smile and warm, butternut eyes made her so obviously a Sunny? How could any father put his work over a daughter who lived to please him?
Not wanting to stir up any more hurtful memories, but wanting to understand better, he asked, “You were an only child?”
“One and only.”
“Any pets?”
“A dog lived at the same address.”
“He wasn’t yours?”
“Technically he was, but he lived in his own house and had his own fenced-in yard. Visits to Peppy were discouraged.”
“Why? Was he a guard dog?”
“No, just a mutt with a cute, photogenic face. Mother didn’t allow me to play with the ‘dirty beast.’ Only, he wasn’t too dirty for me to play with when there were photographers around.”
Photographers? Why would they want to take pictures of Sunny and her dog. “I don’t get it,” he said flatly.
She sighed. “This is turning into a long story.”
“It’s a long night.”
“I’ve already told you more than I should have. This is not stuff I want people to know.”
“Do you think I want them to know I’m an occasional cripple with a fake face who collapsed on a date and had to be taken care of? We’ve got some trust going here, haven’t we?”
Against his shoulder, he felt her nod.
“Okay, then,” he said, patting her back, hoping for her sake that this was a good idea, wishing for his own that he didn’t feel so darn bad for her. “Start with the dog. Why were photographers taking pictures of you and, what’s his name, Peppy?”
“Peppy was for photo ops. So was I. It’s easier to get elected if you have a pet and a kid.”
“Elected? Sunny, who are your parents?”
She sighed. “Sam and Eleanor Keegan.”
Senator Sam Keegan? She hadn’t been kidding with all that talk about royalty. The Keegan name was almost as big as the Kennedys. Senator Sam always made the shortlist of potential presidential candidates.
“Shocked speechless?”
“No way,” he lied. “I was just thinking that I voted for your dad, too.”
“That’s okay. I think he does a good job. My parents both inherited wealth, and could have jetsetted through life, but they’ve genuinely tried to make a difference.”
“And that’s so noble it excuses their neglect of you?”
“They didn’t actually neglect me,” she said defensively.
He knew better, and it made him sick. Still, it wasn’t good to criticize a person’s family. “Do you see them often?”
For a second he thought she wasn’t going to answer, but she took a big breath and said, “I’ve only seen them once, the day after I left Bruce at the altar.”
“Want to tell me about it?” he said, hoping Sunny would unload on him and feel better.
“Not really, but if you know this much, you might as well know the whole thing. If you’re sure you want to.”
“Absolutely.” He stroked her hair, his heart already aching for her.
“Keep in mind, this was the day after I caught Bruce red-handed, but he had convinced them I had done him a great injustice. When I persisted with the truth, Mother said even if I weren’t mistaken, infidelity was part of politics and a small price to pay for being the wife of a powerful man.”
Pete let out a slow whistle.
“It gets worse. Daddy said, with me by his side, Bruce could make it all the way to the White House where he’d be a wonderful president. If I cared about my country, I’d stop pitying myself and help Bruce the way Mother had helped him.”
“And you said…?”
“I said I just didn’t feel that patriotic.”
“Good for you!” He gave her a kiss on her temple.
“Mother was livid, and launched a personal attack. I’d heard it all before, so none of it got to me until she said Bruce only proposed to me to get Daddy’s endorsement.”
“People say things like that when they’re mad,” he said, downplaying the cruelty for Sunny’s sake, but furious inside.
“When I thought about it, though, Daddy did announce his endorsement of Bruce shortly after we became engaged, and Mother didn’t begin planning the wedding until he was elected.”
“Coincidence,” he said with more conviction than he felt.
“Hardly. They don’t call Daddy a kingmaker for nothing.”
“But a trade-off like that is so old-world. How could your dad guarantee a political office for Bruce any more than Bruce could be sure your dad would stick to the deal?”
“Men have gambled for higher stakes. Bruce knew how disappointed my father was that he missed his own nomination for president. If Daddy couldn’t make it to the White House himself, the next best thing was putting his daughter there.”
“Daniels would marry you to buy your dad’s support?”
“Sure he would. He needs me—only not in the traditional sense.”
How had she borne such deceit, such disregard for her worth? He cupped her head, nestling her face into his neck. “No wonder you went on Dream Date,” he murmured.
“It turned out pretty good, didn’t it?” Yawning, she snuggled against him. “I can’t believe I told you all that.”
“I’m glad you did.” He shifted to his good side, rolling her over beside him. Her head lay in the hollow of his arm, and he wrapped his other arm around her middle. She laced her fingers through his, not something she had to do to promote shared body heat, just the natural act of a loving woman.
Wind howled through the pines, the sides of their small tent held fast against the blowing snow. Her even, deep breaths signaled she was out for the count. Man, she’d fallen asleep quickly. How could she do that, lying on this rock hard ground in the middle of all this…nature? Of course, her hip wasn’t a constant ache, and she wasn’t all worked up by a story of neglect and deception on the part of people she should have been able to trust.
Careful not to wake her, he nuzzled her hair. He was nobody special, just a broken-down carpenter with extra bucks in the bank, but as long as Sunny needed him, he’d be there for her.
Chapter Seven
Give or take five minutes, Sunny awoke at six every day, eager to rise and shine. But waking on Big Bear was different. It was cold out there, and she might as well stay warm and c
ozy in the tent…in the sleeping bag…in Pete’s arms.
Hello! Her eyelids flew open. This was a first, waking up with a guy. After twenty-eight virginal years, she’d have to say it made a nice change. Pretty great, in fact. One of his arms was her pillow, and the other tucked nicely across her middle. His legs cupped hers in true spoonlike fashion.
It was intimacy she’d never allowed, not even when she’d been wearing Bruce’s ring. Being the daughter of rich, influential parents, she’d grown up questioning the motives of men. The first boy who’d liked her because she was a Keegan had been in kindergarten, or so her mother claimed. Even through college, she’d suspected every romantic move a guy made.
But Pete hadn’t cajoled her into his arms. Necessity brought them together. Was it wrong to enjoy it a moment longer? Was it wrong to dream of a future where love was real and secure?
Maybe not. But the feel of Pete’s strong male body shaped behind hers was mind spinning, the very kind of temptation she warned her girls about. If he woke now, when her early-morning inhibitions were so relaxed, and kissed her like he had yesterday, what would happen? Could she resist giving in to that? Would she want to?
She ought to. She knew what she believed in. First came trust, then friendship, then marriage. Total intimacy came with total commitment. That’s what she wanted.
At least she did on an intellectual level, but wouldn’t it be nice to turn in Pete’s arms and let him kiss her into a beautiful new day? Groaning inwardly, she shoved against his arm, determined to keep her head straight and her body out of the sleeping bag.
But Pete mumbled a sleepy protest, tucked her back against him and slid kisses over her shoulder, nuzzling her nape. Trapped under his possessive, strong arm, she couldn’t help but respond. The feel of his breath against her skin flamed errant tingles. She lay still, scarcely breathing.
He seemed totally content, just holding her in this intimate way, his touch so natural that sleeping with a woman was obviously no new experience for him. But then he’d been married for years.
What would happen if he woke right now and found himself holding her like this? Talk about potential embarrassment!
Maybe she could deliberately wake him, but act as if she were still asleep. That would give him the chance to back off, believing she was none the wiser. It might work.
Pretending to be on the verge of waking, she stretched like a cat and audibly yawned.
She heard his quick intake of breath and knew he’d awakened. In a shot, he lifted his arm from her, then froze, not even breathing, as if he feared waking her.
Shifting, yawning again, she settled into “deep sleep,” flopping her arm heavily across him.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved as far away from her as he could in the sleeping bag, taking great care not to “wake” her. If he had still been holding her, she couldn’t have fooled him for her pounding heart would have given her away.
A minute passed, then another before she pretended to wake and rub the sleep from her eyes. Pete “slept” as if he were dead, his arm folded tightly against his own body, the very model of propriety.
Smiling to herself, she unzipped her side of the sleeping bags, and reached for her jeans. Stealthily she put them on, as if she were trying not to wake him.
Leaning over, she peered out the rain fly. Snow blanketed the campsite in pure white. Early-morning sun filtered through pines several stories tall, creating a mosaic of shadows and light. The sound of water rushing over rocks in the creek broke the quiet.
With her mind focused on getting Pete warm last night, she’d forgotten to tuck their bootlaces inside and they’d frozen to the ground. The boots were stiff and cold, but Sunny got hers on, all the while watching to see if Pete would officially “wake.”
He didn’t, and she crawled outside. Oh, it was a glorious new day. Standing there in the beauty of God’s world, she raised both hands skyward, praising His name, letting joy fill her soul. There were valleys in life, but today she was on the mountain and glad to know the difference.
Down at the stream, she moistened a towel from her backpack and washed her face in water so cold, it took her breath away. Maybe a little freshening up was what Pete needed to “wake.”
Taking the damp towel to the tent, she opened the fly and knelt beside him. Either he really had gone back to sleep or he played possum very well.
“Good morning,” she crooned. “Time to wake up.” She brushed the wet towel across his brow.
Pete’s eyes flew open so fast, there was no doubt he’d been faking. She bit her lip to keep from smiling.
“Wow! That’s cold,” he complained, wrestling the towel out of her hands and dabbing his eyes with it. Tossing the towel back, he snuggled back under the bag. “Is it as cold as it was?”
“Almost. I’m going to fix breakfast. I thought we’d wait a while before starting back. It’ll be warmer. Okay with you?”
He grinned. “You’re the boss. Since I’ve admitted I don’t know what the heck I’m doing, I might as well do what I’m told.”
He looked so sexy, all sleepy-eyed and needing a shave. “How’s the hip?” she asked, desperately hoping for good news.
“Great.” His eyes shifted.
“Pete, you know I recognize hooey. Be honest.”
“It’s better,” he insisted though he didn’t meet her eyes.
She’d know how bad it was when they hit the trail.
It was nearly nine before she decided they should start back. The capricious Big Bear weather had changed again, and the snow melted rapidly. The trail would be muddy and, in places, dangerously slick.
Pete made a big show of being fit, but she saw how heavily he leaned on the walking stick. Could he make it all the way back on his own? She feared not.
Meggy had said she’d send somebody after them if they weren’t back by evening, but that could mean another night on the mountain. She hated the idea of Pete suffering any longer than he had to. It would be better if she went for help. There was a clearing less than a mile away. If Pete could make it there, a helicopter could pick him up.
Sunny kept her plan to herself since Pete insisted his hip was “just peachy.” He probably thought the downhill hike would be easier. It wouldn’t be. Before long, reality would set in and he would give her no argument. She hated to think how much pain he would be in when that happened.
While she broke camp, she made him sit on a sunwarmed rock. He grumbled, but she reminded him who had appointed whom boss. Finally ready to leave, she said, “On your feet, Maguire. We’re moving out.”
He stood and saluted, mocking her drill-sergeant manner with his tilted smile. At least the smile was back in working order today.
“Hey, Sunny,” he said softly, those bad-boy eyes of his sparkling with mischief. “Could you help me out here?”
Of course she could, but her teacher instinct said he was up to something. “Help you what?”
He beckoned her close, and then closer still, until she was near enough for him to catch her hand.
“What are you up to, Pete Maguire?”
His brows drew together in a worried frown. “I’m feeling kind of cold. I think it’s my hypothermia coming back.”
She hid a smile. “I don’t think so. You’re not shivering.”
“I am on the inside,” he complained.
Maybe he was. Feeling his thumb stroke her hand, she felt shivery herself. But she argued, “Your teeth aren’t chattering.”
“Sure th-th-they are,” he said, making it true.
She frowned. “Hmm, it could be a relapse.”
“That’s what I th-thought.”
“Think a little extra body heat would help?”
“It’s w-w-worth a try.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, closing the space between them. His big arms enveloped her.
“How’s that?” she said, resting her head against his shoulder.
“Much better.” She heard the grin in his voice.<
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Familiar tingles danced up and down. His touch, his teasing, his kind understanding, they were exactly right. She hadn’t known how much she needed this, and somehow she couldn’t bear for him to know. It would make her seem pathetically vulnerable. So she said, “If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was say so.”
“What if I wanted a kiss?”
For a second she couldn’t breathe. Slowly she lifted her mouth to his. “Same thing. Just say so.”
He took her face in both hands, staring at her mouth until she closed her eyes, paralyzed with anticipation.
He whispered her name and took her lips in a soft, tasting kiss, then another until she was floating, unaware of anything but this man and this moment. The world could go by. Just let her stay in his embrace.
When he pulled away and looked into her eyes, the warmth in his almost frightened her. She had no experience with feelings of this depth. The mere fact disconcerted her terribly. She’d been prepared to marry a man without knowing she could feel this?
“How’s your hypothermia?” she quipped, seeking familiar ground. She couldn’t have him see her confusion.
“All better,” he drawled. The intensity of his gaze belied the laid-back inflection. “You sure know your first aid, Coach.”
Was he consciously helping her to regroup? Could he see what an effort this was for her, struggling with strange new feelings?
She reached for her backpack and slipped it on. He looked around the campsite for his pack, but she tugged at his arm, pulling him toward the trail. He wouldn’t find the pack, not where she’d hidden it.
He protested. “You’re slipping, Sarge. I need my backpack.”
“We’ll leave it today. I packed light so we can move fast.”
One dark, disapproving brow shot up. She’d expected this. What man liked changes, especially ones he had no say in?
“All right,” he agreed cautiously, “but if we’re only taking one backpack, I’m carrying it.” The steel in his voice said he wouldn’t put up with any of her equality nonsense today.
Again she expected that. Pete was too much of a gentleman to give in gracefully.
