by Silver James
* * *
“You know he’ll come back.” Her father sounded both patient and certain. “And you need to talk to him when he does. Georgie, he wasn’t with that woman. She was just there. She jumped in and kissed him for the cameras. I’m positive that’s the truth.” He hunkered down in front of her chair and cupped her cheeks. “You know I love you, right?” At her nod, he continued. “Don’t be stubborn like your old dad, Georgie. Don’t let your pride stop you from having the love of a lifetime.”
Georgie pulled her shoulders up to her ears and hunched deeper into the chair. “It’s not like that. He doesn’t love me. I can’t stand in his way. He’s going to be the president. I... His father’s right. I wouldn’t be a good first lady.” Tears gathered on her lashes and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “I can’t face him, Daddy. There’s no magic wand to wave to make it all better.”
“When did you stop believing in magic, baby girl?”
“When the shadows got so dark I couldn’t see any longer.”
“Aw, honey.”
“Don’t, Dad. Just...don’t. The doctors say a fifty-fifty chance.” A bittersweet smile formed on her face. “Today I feel half-dead.”
“Don’t say that, Georgeanne. Don’t you give up.” Her father pushed to his feet and stomped over to stare out the window. “Dang it. I hate this. I hate seein’ you weak and pale. You were never sick as a kid. You’d be out there even when the winter wind was cold enough to steal your breath. I’d be out there workin’, look up and there you’d be on top of ol’ Lucky, movin’ the cows to shelter.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I remember one time in particular. You came runnin’ in the house, your cheeks as red as apples, laughin’ and hidin’ a snowball behind your back. What happened to that little girl?”
“She grew up, Daddy. Grew up and went away. Do you still love what she left behind?”
“That’s a hellava thing to ask me, girl! Of course I love you. I’m your father. No matter what.” He grabbed a pillow and punched it a couple of times before gently easing it behind Georgie’s back. “Now, you listen to me, baby girl. You’re gonna win this fight. And if you had a lick of sense in that way too smart head of yours, you’d call Clayton Barron and tell him to get his ass down here.”
“No.” Georgie pulled her sweater a little tighter around her shoulders. She was always cold these days. Her chair faced the window. She could see the lake where she’d learned to fish and had gone swimming with her horse on hot summer days. The afternoon sun flared just above the horizon, teasing the water with glittering fingers.
This was why she’d come home. Not to die, but to heal, surrounded by the place that made her. She was so scared these days. Afraid of saying goodbye to those she loved. Afraid of living the moments she had left. The look on Clay’s face when she’d told him echoed in her dreams, a ghost she could neither touch nor exorcise.
Her dad dropped a kiss on her head. “Rest, baby girl. I love you.”
Georgie called after him, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the clomping of his boots. “I love you, too, Daddy.”
The glinting path of sunlight pulled her into the dream—the one she always reached for when the pain from the treatments got too bad.
The sun, sinking in the sky, spilled in the window and drenched Clay in shimmering gold. The light made a halo around him she knew he deserved, and he looked incredibly right mantled in the splendor. He was Oklahoma’s favorite son, would be president one day soon. She admired him from afar, knowing she could never touch him, never share in the warmth of his golden glow. As she turned to walk away, he called her. And then she was in his sheltering arms, warm and safe. He dipped his head, his firm lips finding hers. She sighed, offering everything she had, everything she was, to him.
The wooden floor creaked and she startled awake. So she thought. A waking dream stood in front of her. Clay, bathed in the copper light of the setting sun. She blinked, then rubbed her eyes.
“I’ve missed you, sweet pea.”
“Why are you here?” She shaded her eyes against the glare. Clay stood there handsome and...perfect.
Clay squatted in front of her. “I’m here because you are, Georgie.”
“But...the campaign—”
“Can take place without me for a while.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Georgie. You quit that job, remember?”
She was shocked for a moment, but caught the hint of a smile teasing the side of his mouth. Without considering the consequences, she touched his lips.
When he spoke, his breath teased her fingers. “I’m an idiot and a fool, Georgie. Can you forgive me? I’ve missed you more than words can say.” Clay leaned closer, brushed his lips against hers. “And I love you more than life.”
Unsure she’d heard correctly, she demanded, “Say that again.”
“I love you, Georgie. Please forgive me. Please love me back. I won’t fail you again.”
“Is that a campaign promise, Senator?” Her voice was haughty and sarcastic.
“No, Georgeanne Dreyfus, that’s a promise from my heart.”
Twenty
Clay stayed with Georgie on the ranch, working toward redemption. He took her horseback riding when she felt strong enough. He held her cuddled on his lap in the big chair facing the wide window when she didn’t. He kept her warm when her body shook with chills. He kissed her bald head and told her she was more beautiful than that Irish singer from the ’80s who’d shaved her head. He told her he loved her. Every chance he got.
He talked to her, using his words, not hers. He opened his heart to her, whispering plans for the future—their future. He didn’t mention surgery. The decision was hers. He did his best to give her hope and love, and a reason to stay with him. And he bought a ring. On a day between treatments when her color was better, when she held down breakfast, when her eyes weren’t dulled with pain, he led her outside to a saddled horse.
Clay mounted, maneuvered to the edge of the porch and pulled her across the saddle in front of him. At a slow walk, they rode out and, after a short circuit of her dad’s ranch, Clay guided the horse to the swath of lush grass near the lake. A picnic was set out there, arranged with the help of Cassie and Jolie, who snuck in after he and Georgie left the house. Dismounting carefully, he reached up and gathered her into a princess carry and strode to the blanket stretched across the grass.
The sun edged toward the horizon, the light soft as sunset approached. He offered her cold watermelon. He offered her cheese and crackers. He opened and poured two crystal flutes of sparkling grape juice. Then he positioned himself on one knee and took her hand.
“You know I love you, yeah?” He watched her expression, searching for a flicker of doubt. There was none when she answered.
“Yes. I know. And you know I love you, right?”
Finding he could breathe again, he nodded. “Right.” He leaned forward and kissed her, a chaste brush of his lips across hers. They hadn’t had sex in weeks and he didn’t care. She was too fragile and that was okay. Holding her, sleeping with her in his arms, was even more satisfying than the bells and whistles of climaxes. He finally understood love, understood “for better or worse, in sickness and in health.”
She sat with her back to the lake, and the sun kissed the treetops on the other side, even as it painted a gilded path across the water. Georgie was bathed in a golden aura and she’d never looked more beautiful. Holding her hand, he reached into the picnic basket and retrieved a box. With a move he’d practiced until it was flawless, he opened the jewelry box with one hand and hooked the one-carat, emerald-cut diamond solitaire with his index finger.
“I’m not waiting any longer. I want to spend the rest of our lives together. Georgeanne Ruth Dreyfus, will y
ou marry me?”
Georgie stared, tears glittering like the sun dancing on the placid water behind her. She whispered one word and the breath he’d been holding rushed out.
“Yes.”
He gathered her into his arms, kissed her with gentle lips that turned demanding, his tongue seeking hers, his hands careful, but clear in their declaration of how much he desired her.
“Thank you, sweet pea.”
* * *
Clay didn’t leave her often, but his numbers were falling. She fretted. Georgie believed in him, was convinced he’d be the next president. And she forced him back on the campaign trail with an argument—started by her—that left her exhausted. He didn’t like being apart, scared he was missing minutes and seconds with her that he’d never get back. He shared those fears with Cord and Chance, with Boone and Hunt. He lay awake, terrified he’d get a call saying he’d missed it all.
He argued with the old man. He brooded. And he replayed Georgie’s parting words over and over.
Don’t you get it? This is bigger than me. Than you. Than us. This is the whole country, Clay. They need you. You can fix it. You can make it better just like you fixed my heart and made me whole.
So here he was in St. Louis, staring at his reflection in a makeup mirror. Georgie’s words weren’t the only ones he heard.
When it comes time for the acceptance speech at the party’s convention, it better be you givin’ it, boy.
His father’s words remained scorched in his memory. The makeup girl babbled about his perfect hair, perfect face, perfect everything, until he wanted to growl and jerk away. He didn’t need to look at the text on his phone, that message also seared into his psyche. Leave it to his sister-in-law to get right to the point.
The girl reached to comb his hair and he snagged her wrist. “Enough. You’re done.” She sputtered, but left him alone in the dressing room. Unable to help himself, he reread Cassie’s text.
Georgie scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning. It better be you sitting beside her bed when she wakes up.
Surgery. He knew what that meant. Chemo and radiation had failed. The doctor had finally talked sense into Georgie. But she hadn’t told him. He swallowed the anger. Georgie should have told him. He knew what she was doing—trying to protect him, protect the campaign. But she should have told him to come because nothing was more important than her.
Dammit, this was the last-ditch effort to save Georgie’s life. She’d all but shoved him away, refused to talk to him about her treatment. Not that he could blame her. After what his old man said about her, knowing about his own experience with his mother, she had every right to be skittish, despite the fact she wore his engagement ring.
He had a speech to give—an important speech that would make or break him before the convention. But his heart wasn’t in it. His heart wasn’t even in the same building. It was with the woman he loved who was facing surgery without him because she was protecting his damn political career.
* * *
Clay stared out over the sea of faces, those beyond the first few rows nothing but blurry smudges in the darkened auditorium. Out of habit, he glanced into the wings but the figure he sought was no longer there because she was alone in Oklahoma facing a life-changing event. Inhaling, he continued the speech, saying the words Georgie had written for him.
“I met a man the other day, a man who served this country in three wars, a man who wasn’t shy about his opinion. ‘You know what I think, son?’ he asked. ‘No, sir, but I’d like to,’ I replied. ‘I’ll tell ya what’s wrong with the government. It’s politicians. We got too many of ’em. We don’t need any more of them durn politicians. What we need is more legislators. Folks who understand why they’ve got them fancy desks up there in the Capitol. We need smart folks workin’ for the people. Not the people working for all them politicians. Here’s the thing, son. Us folks out here in the vast middle of the country? We ain’t got time for jawin’ and fancy words. We’re plain-speakin’. You gotta say what you mean and mean what you say—’”
Clay glanced down at the cards on the podium. He never used a teleprompter when Georgie wrote his speeches, as she had this one, but those last words struck him dumb. Damn but he missed her. He stared out across the audience and then glanced once more to the wings of the stage. No shadowy figure stood there mouthing the words with him. No Georgie. And there might not be a Georgie after tomorrow.
He had to breathe around the ache in his chest and he realized he’d been silent long enough that the crowd was growing restless. Clearing his throat to swallow the lump that had formed there, he continued.
“Some time ago, someone important to me was faced with a decision. She didn’t consult me. She didn’t ask my opinion. She made a choice and when I found out, her decision was one I didn’t like. Now it’s my turn to make a decision. It might be one she doesn’t like, but it’s the right one for me. For her. For us.”
Furtive activity at the edge of the stage drew his attention. Boone stood there, hands shoved in his front pockets, watching with a slightly twisted grin on his face. It was the man and woman—the hacks hired by Cyrus to replace Georgie—who were waving frantically to get his attention. He ignored them and turned back to the audience.
“Thank you for coming and good night.” Clay swiveled on his heel and headed for Boone. By the time he’d crossed the stage, Hunt was standing there, as well.
“Where to, boss?”
Clay studied his security chief for a long moment. “Where is she?”
Hunt deferred to his brother. Boone tucked his chin in a short nod of approval as he answered, “OU Med. They checked her in tonight.”
“Then that’s where we’re going.”
Thing One and Thing Two swarmed him.
“You can’t!” From her.
“You didn’t finish that travesty of a speech.” From him.
Clay almost laughed when Hunt caught his left elbow and Boone snagged his right arm and blocked the two from reaching him. Hunt had his phone up to his ear issuing quiet orders into it. One of the organizers came puffing up.
“Senator Barron? Is there a problem, sir?” The man wasn’t quite wringing his hands, unlike the Twit Twins.
“A family emergency.”
“Oh. Oh! Your fiancée. Of course. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
Get out of my way for starters, Clay thought. Rather than voicing it, he smiled but kept walking. “We have it under control, thank you. Perhaps you could draft someone to fill the rest of the time set aside for my keynote?”
“Oh! Yes, yes, of course. I should do that.” The man peeled away and huffed back the way they’d come.
As they reached the SUV idling at the side entrance, Clay turned to the two handlers. They’d fussed and dive-bombed him like mockingbirds with a cat in sight of their nest the whole way. “I’ve wanted to say this since the day you first appeared in my office. You’re fired.”
* * *
Clay, wearing exhaustion like a wrinkled suit, sat next to the hospital bed watching the woman he loved beyond reason. Her skin, paper-thin and translucent, felt like dry silk beneath the one finger he used to caress her arm. Georgie opened her eyes and when they widened in sleepy surprise, he smiled.
“Hello, sweet pea.”
“Clay?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you really here?”
“Oh, yeah, love. I’m really here. Not going anywhere.”
“But...you can’t be here.”
His brow knit as he stared at her. “I’m here. There’s no can’t about it.”
“But...your speech.”
“Given.”
“You’re supposed to be on your way to Denver.”
“Nope. I’m supposed to be right here.”
“Clay!”
“Georgie.”
Color suffused her pale cheeks and the readout of her blood pressure on the machine next to her bed spiked.
“The campaign!”
“Is over.”
Her mouth gaped open. She closed it. It gaped again. She breathed a shocked question. “What?”
“I’m done.”
“But the polls—”
“Don’t mean jack.” He carefully took her hand. “I’m out, Georgie. I’m not running.”
She blinked, eyes going wide. “You can’t do that.”
“I can and did.”
“But—”
“Shush, Georgie.”
“But—”
He leaned in and kissed her before she could finish speaking. He spoke against her lips. “No buts. Just listen, okay?”
When she nodded and whispered, “Okay,” he straightened. “You’ve always been my heart, Georgie. And your words? Your words make me want to be the man you think I am. I haven’t been that man lately, but I’m going to be.”
“Clay—”
“Shhh. I’m talking, sweet pea.” He lifted the hand he was holding and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “As president, I have eight years. Only eight years. I can do a lot of good, but the next person who steps in behind me can undo everything I’ve put into place.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Your words last night, they hit home and made sense. Do you remember the words you gave me to say?”
Her expression morphed into one of confusion so he quoted the words back to her. “I’ll tell ya what’s wrong with the government. It’s politicians. We got too many of ’em. We don’t need any more of them durn politicians. What we need is more legislators. Folks who understand why they’ve got them fancy desks up there in the Capitol. We need smart folks workin’ for the people. Not the people working for all them politicians. Remember now?”
At her nod, he continued. “You’re right. I don’t want to be a politician. I want to be a legislator. I can’t do that as president. I can by staying in the Senate. So that’s what I’m doing—staying in the Senate.”
