by Silver James
“I won’t tell him. I suppose there’s no need to worry him if this is a false alarm.”
“Right. Exactly. You know him. He will worry. There’s no need. I’m fine. Really.”
The woman studied her for a long moment. “But I think you’re wrong. I think he’d want to know so he can help you through this. That’s the kind of man he is, Georgie.”
She swallowed the saliva filling her mouth and hugged her arms around her stomach. “He’s perfect, Ev. Too perfect for me. I...won’t make him worry.”
* * *
The day dragged interminably. Clay was on the Hill all day for a series of committee meetings and a session in the Senate chambers. By the time he arrived at her apartment to pick her up for dinner, Georgie had settled her nerves and had an unshakable poker face in place. She forced gaiety into her voice and plastered on a smile. Luckily, two other couples—supporters from home—accompanied them to dinner, and Georgie kept the focus on them and Clay. She was good at her job and she worked their guests hard to divert Clay’s attention. Yet she caught his concerned looks. He knew her. Knew something was off.
After dinner and a long visit over coffee and dessert, the other couples said good-night on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Clay snagged her hand and tugged her along with him. “Let’s walk for a bit.”
She did not want to walk. She did not want to talk. Georgie had every intention of getting Clay home and in bed where she could keep him so distracted he forgot to ask her what was going on. The man was far too astute for her own good, especially now. With reluctance, she followed his lead.
“You going to talk to me?”
“’Bout what?” She feigned innocence, hoping her poker face hadn’t cracked.
“Sweet pea, Hunt is family. You’re family. We look after each other. What happened with the doctor today?” His voice held a hint of sharpness.
She answered quickly, without looking at him. “Nothing.”
“Georgie...”
“Nothing, Clay. Just follow-ups on some tests he ran.”
“Which tests?”
He was not going to let it go. She scrambled for an answer. “You know my dad is diabetic, right?”
“Yes.”
“The doctor just wanted to confirm my results.” There. Not exactly a lie, just a misdirection.
“You sure that’s all?”
She controlled her expression and smiled up at him. “You know how I feel about sweets and pastry, Clay.”
That brought out a deep chuckle and he squeezed her hand. “Point taken.”
They walked a few blocks in companionable silence, enjoying the balmy spring night. Georgie recognized Glen leaning against the black SUV parked at the curb ahead of them.
Clay stopped and pulled her around to face him, his arms sliding around her waist. “Look at me, sweet pea.” She tilted her head up. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, yeah?”
The expression on his face tugged at her heart. He was so protective and he was a “fixer.” She didn’t want to worry him. Ever. But especially now. “Yeah, Clay. If something was wrong, I would.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. “Good. Let’s go home, sweet pea. I want to make love to my woman.”
* * *
Georgie’s cell phone slipped from her numb fingers and she stared toward the door. For a week she’d been pretending everything was fine—convinced it would be—and she’d finally relaxed. They were gearing up for the big presentation when Clay would officially announce he was running for president. It would be a huge multimedia deal with appearances by his cousin, country music star Deacon Tate, a video presentation and the announcement speech.
But the call she’d just received slammed her world to a screeching halt. Her doctor wanted to see her ASAP. He wanted to refer her to an oncologist. And she’d asked for one in Oklahoma.
She had to go home. The ranch. Her dad. Home. She needed her roots, needed the red dirt of western Oklahoma caking her boots, the smell of hay and horses.
She called her dad. He wanted to know if Clay was coming with her. Clay. Oh, God, she couldn’t tell him. She wouldn’t put him through this.
“No, Daddy. It’s just me comin’,” she whispered and ended the call.
She typed out her resignation letter, remembered she’d have to buy a plane ticket. She so rarely flew commercial. She stayed in her office, the door closed and locked, informing her staff and Ev that she was working on Clay’s speech and didn’t want to be disturbed. Going online, she made a reservation to fly home. She reread her resignation, tore it up and wrote the letter ten more times before she gave up and handwrote a simple message.
Clay, we have to stop things now. We both know deep down we won’t work. You deserve so much more than I can ever be. You deserve a beautiful woman by your side who will be the perfect first lady when you win. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I’ll only hurt you worse if I stay. Please don’t try to contact me.
She couldn’t write the last three words her heart screamed she add. If she admitted how much she loved him, he’d never let her go. She didn’t bother blotting the tears that smeared the ink. She sealed the letter in an envelope and wrote Clay’s name on its face.
Her letter to Boone was infinitely easier.
Dear Boone,
I’m sorry. I’m quitting. Someday I’ll explain. Forgive me for leaving you in the lurch.
Georgie
Georgie waited until Ev was on her break. She slipped into Clay’s office and left both envelopes in the center of his desk. Back in her office, she boxed up a few of the most personal mementos. Boone would pack and ship the rest to her later if she asked. And she would. Eventually. First, she had to get out of the building, to her apartment, pack and head to the airport before 10:00 p.m. She was acutely aware of the passage of time. She had to get gone ASAP. Ev left early on Thursdays. Clay and Boone were on the Hill. She had to go now to have any chance of escaping.
Georgie closed the door to her office, but her fingers froze on the aged brass knob. She leaned her forehead against the solid wood. This place had been a huge part of her life. Her hopes. Dreams. But not anymore. Sounds of the senator’s office hummed behind her. Phones rang. People chattered. Everything was so normal. Clay’s office would run just fine without her. Clay would be just fine without her. In fact, he’d be better off.
“What’s with the box, Georgie?”
She stiffened, heart pounding. Boone wasn’t supposed to be in the office. If he was here, Clay couldn’t be far behind. She had to get away. She’d fall apart if she saw Clay. Her goodbye letter, left in the center of his desk, would explain what she couldn’t speak out loud to the man she loved.
“Just taking some personal effects home, Boone.”
Warm fingers turned her around. “Sugar, you never could play poker with me. What’s goin’ on?”
Boone wasn’t only her boss, he was also a friend. “I’m resigning. Going home to Oklahoma.”
“You can’t.”
“Please don’t make this harder. Clay’s going to be the next president. I can’t stand in his way.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“My letter. It explains. He’ll understand.” Georgie turned to flee.
Boone stopped her. “No, he won’t, Georgie. He loves you, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it.”
“That’s impossible. We’re impossible.”
“You’ll never know if it would work if you don’t stay and fight for it.”
“I can’t. I’m dying.”
Her words shocked him and he dropped his hand. She ran, tears streaming, heart breaking. It had to be this way.
Reaching the elevators, she stabbed the button repeatedly. Nothing. Fearing Boone would chase her
down, she pivoted toward the stairwell. She managed four strides before Boone caught her arm.
“Whoa there, Georgie. You don’t drop a word like dying into the conversation and then take off.” His grip on her biceps remained gentle but firm, and he marched her toward an empty conference room. Once they were alone, he still didn’t release her. “Now, what the hell is going on with you?”
“I told you. I quit.”
“Because you’re dying? You look pretty damn healthy to me, girl.”
Her anger leached away and her shoulders drooped. “I have breast cancer, Boone. I’m going home for treatment.”
Boone released her arm and slumped against the wall. “Ah, hell, sugar. How long have you known?”
“I...”
“Your appointment last week. The one Hunt said upset you.”
She nodded. “I had a biopsy. The doctor called this morning to confirm.”
“Does Clay know?”
She couldn’t meet Boone’s eyes. She was taking the coward’s way out, but she couldn’t face Clay, couldn’t face the pity in his gaze, wouldn’t survive his inevitable rejection. “No.”
“You can’t quit, sugar. You need the insurance.”
“I...” She hadn’t thought of that. Her only thought had been getting away from Clay before he told her to go away.
“And no offense, Georgie, but you’re selling Clay short. You’re important to him.”
The door eased open behind them and the man himself stuck his head in. “Something you two want to tell me?” He wore a wry smile, but the humor did not reach his eyes.
“That’s my cue to skedaddle.” Boone gave her shoulder a squeeze, took the box away from her and as he passed Clay, murmured, “Just listen, then do the right thing.” He slipped through the door, closing it behind him.
“Georgie?”
She forced air into her lungs but couldn’t meet his eye. “I...I quit.”
“I see.” His voice sounded as if it had been flash frozen.
“Boone wouldn’t let me.”
“Ah.”
“I...” She turned away from him and dropped into the nearest chair, bending to cover her face with her hands. “You know I had a checkup a few weeks ago, Clay.”
“And?”
How could one word sound so brittle? “And there was a lump.” She looked up at his quick intake of breath, but he wore an expression she couldn’t decipher. Her gaze dropped again. “The results from the biopsy weren’t...good.” More silence. She continued staring at the floor.
“Prognosis?”
“Stage three. I’m being referred to an oncologist for a lumpectomy and chemo, maybe radiation. I...want to go home, Clay. To Dad’s ranch.”
“Okay. Give me a few days to clear my schedule. We’ll go home. Get the best oncologist in the state.”
Georgie didn’t want to do this, but she had no choice. She couldn’t allow Clay to go with her. She was too aware of what he’d gone through with his mother. That part of his life had been glossed over in his official biography—how she’d died of breast cancer when he was a boy—but Georgie knew him, had overheard his interactions with his brothers and his cousins. He’d been profoundly affected by his mother’s illness and death. She would not put him through it again.
“You have to stay here.”
A guffaw erupted from him. She had no other way to describe the sound that blasted from his mouth. The problem was his eyes held no humor. “No.”
“Clay, don’t make this harder—” She pushed out of the chair.
“What part of no do you not understand, Georgie? You aren’t leaving me.”
She flattened her mouth into what she hoped was a grim line, fisted her hands on her hips and attempted to mimic her mother’s best society maven voice. “Now you listen to me, Clayton Barron. You’re an important man.” Her right hand lifted without her conscious instruction, and her index finger pointed at him, wagging in time with each word she said. “Running for President of the United States. You don’t have time to be hanging around watching me lose my hair.”
Inhaling so she’d have enough breath to launch into her next argument, she never got the chance. Clay stepped into her space, cupped her cheeks in his palms and leaned down until his eyes were on the same level as hers. “Now you listen to me, Georgeanne Ruth Dreyfus.”
Wait? He knew her middle name? His warm breath washed over her skin and she focused on his mouth. Full lips. Square chin. Strong jaw shadowed with a day’s growth of whiskers. Which only made him look far sexier than he had a right to, given the circumstances. She wet her lips, felt her nostrils flare as his cologne wafted between them—almond, cedar, bergamot and a hint of lemon. His hands dropped to her shoulders before caressing her arms as he tugged her against him. Her head fitted against his shoulder and she relaxed against his muscular chest.
“I’m not going anywhere, Georgie. I’m staying right here next to you.”
“But—” Whatever argument she intended to make fled from her brain as he captured her mouth in a soft kiss. By the time he was finished, she was breathless.
“No buts, sweet pea. I’m not going anywhere. Neither of us is.”
She pushed against his chest to get a little traction and pointed her finger again. Before she could poke him with it, he captured its tip in his mouth, kissing away her defenses and defeating her offense in the process.
“Clay—”
“Georgie.”
He mumbled around her finger, but his eyes twinkled and a smile curled the corners of his mouth. Dang but she loved his mouth. When he kissed her, she forgot everything. All her good intentions, all her talking points, all sense of propriety. She pulled her finger from between his lips and curled it into her palm in self-defense. With his next words, the fight left her.
“I won’t let you go through this alone so you might as well stop pushing me away.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’m bigger, far more stubborn, and you mean too much to me.”
Georgie gave up, raising her chin to glare at him. “Fine. Just...fine.” Then her breath caught as the import of his words struck her. She meant something to him?
“Wait. What?”
“You heard me. I’m here to stay.”
Fourteen
Clay smoothed out the crumpled paper even though the words were branded into his memory. He knew why Georgie panicked. He knew why she wanted to run that afternoon, thinking she was doing it for him. Still, it pissed him right the hell off that she thought she needed to protect him, or that he would just walk away from her.
Not gonna happen. He wasn’t his father.
A soft knock on the back door of his townhouse interrupted his reverie. He pushed off the bar stool and unlocked the door. Hunt and Boone walked in, the expressions on their faces grim.
“How’s she doin’?” Boone sounded gruff, but concern radiated from him.
“She’s asleep.”
Hunt nodded. “Good. I have a team packing up her apartment. We’ll put the furniture in storage, ship the nonessentials to her dad. Clothes and personal stuff will be delivered here.”
“Clay, have you discussed this with her?” Boone’s voice held a note of caution.
“No. I want her here with me. End of discussion.” Damn straight he wanted her here, now that he was beginning to consider his feelings for Georgie. He couldn’t think about the future. He could only think about now. Maybe tomorrow at the most. Stage three. Not stage four. Not a death sentence, but three was bad enough. He shook thoughts of his mother away. If they didn’t have a lifetime, then he’d squeeze every second he could into what time they had, but he couldn’t think about that future. He didn’t explain. His cousins remembered, too. “What about Oklahoma City, Boone?”
“We did some scrambling, but we
have the Chesapeake Energy Arena locked in. Chase’s media team says no problem on the change. They’re familiar with the venue for concerts and that’s basically what your announcement is. Deke says he’ll be there with the band. They’re working on a new song for your campaign. Video people will splice it in as soon as Deke sends the audio file. The advance team will have the place filled. With Deke and the Sons of Nashville leading the way, that’ll be easy.” Boone’s gaze flicked to the wrinkled paper on the breakfast bar, but Clay cut him off before he could comment.
“She stays with me, Boone. And I stay with her. I don’t care what that damn letter says. I refuse to let her face this alone.” He didn’t miss the look the brothers exchanged.
“Georgie is a woman who knows her own mind, Clay.”
“I’m well aware of that, Hunt.”
“And you know she’s like the little sister none of us had. We’re all a little protective of her.”
Clay glared at both men. “And I’m not?”
“Dang, ol’ son,” Boone murmured. “This is real.”
He didn’t reply. He had nothing to say.
* * *
The three of them plotted long into the night before the cousins crashed in his guest rooms. Clay slipped into his bedroom. He stood next to the bed, watching Georgie sleep, and doing his best to breathe around the knot in his chest. He was not his father. He would fight for the life of the woman he cared about. He did care, knowing that’s all he was capable of. At the moment, loving her—loving anyone—seemed beyond him.
Her handwritten words had shredded his gut. She believed she wasn’t good enough for him. Truth was, she was too good for him. Could he make a commitment to her? Would she refuse, thinking he asked only out of a sense of obligation and pity?
Georgie stirred, her hand reaching out to the spot where he normally slept. She might try to push him away when she was awake, but sleeping? She wanted him. He stripped quickly and slipped into bed beside her, gathering her close. She breathed a little sigh and settled against him, her head nestled on his shoulder. This is where she belonged.
