“You aren’t hoping to run into you know who, are you?” After all these years, her mother still couldn’t bring herself to say Marcus’s name.
“Of course not, Mom. That’s all in the past.”
“Fine. But be outside in five minutes. Our car will be the third one behind the president’s in the motorcade, and the Secret Service won’t want to wait.”
Violet nodded before going in the opposite direction toward the vestibule hallway that led toward the restrooms. Her family had been in the public eye for as long as she could remember, so the cameras and parades of vehicles and formal appearances were certainly nothing new. Yet, that didn’t mean she relished living her life in the spotlight, even if she was good at pretending otherwise. In fact, being a public defender, representing some of the most heinous criminals in the justice system, she’d quickly learned how to mask any facial expressions that might give away how she was truly feeling inside. Every day, she sat beside strangers in orange jumpsuits accused of an array of charges and didn’t hesitate to defend their right to a fair trial.
So then, why was she currently ducking into the bathroom of a small church in the middle of Wyoming? Why was she hiding out in a cramped powder room that hadn’t had its floral wallpaper or framed cross-stitch decor changed out in at least four decades?
Violet braced her hands on the pink-tiled counter and stared at her reflection over the sink. “Because the last time you saw Marcus King, your world fell apart shortly after.”
Her phone vibrated in her purse, and she felt a stinging pressure building behind her eyes, the telltale sign of a migraine coming on. Yanking out her phone, she saw the text from her father asking if she was okay. She fired a quick response.
I’m fine. Go on without me and I’ll catch up with you guys later at the airport.
She dug around in her purse for the pills her doctor had prescribed for migraines. Even though taking them made her feel as though she were admitting defeat, she knew that it was smart to stay ahead of the pain and the accompanying nausea before it got worse. Turning on the water, she cupped her hand under the faucet and took a deep drink.
Next, she reapplied her lipstick and tried to ignore how pale her cheeks looked in the fluorescent lights and pink-hued surrounding of the ladies’ room. Checking the time on her phone, she convinced herself that the motorcade was likely long gone, hopefully with Marcus in one of the first vehicles. She could slip outside and pretend nothing was amiss.
And then do what?
Ask a reporter for a ride in a news van? Call a cab? Did they have Uber in Teton Ridge? Okay, so maybe this wasn’t one of her better thought-out plans. This was why she tried not to let her emotions get the better of her.
“C’mon,” she told herself in the mirror. There were hundreds of people in attendance at the funeral. Surely someone would be heading her way. “For God’s sake, what’s with you? You’re smart. You’re resourceful. You’ve just been named one of the top litigators in Lone Star Docket magazine. Finding a ride to the airport should be the least of your problems. Get it together, damn it.”
Finally the pep talk worked. She ran a hand through her dark hair and turned to the door. Straightening her spine, she left the safety of her temporary hideout with her head held high.
Only to slam into the very man she’d been trying to avoid.
Marcus’s hands were firm and strong on her shoulders as he caught her, then immediately released her when his surprised face recognized hers.
“Violet.” His voice was deeper than she’d remembered, and his solemn tone was definitely less playful. But at least it wasn’t accusatory, which might have been how she would’ve sounded if he’d shown up at her father’s funeral.
She drew in a deep breath, trying to ignore his citrus and leather–scented shower gel, still familiar after all these years. “Hi, Marcus. I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”
A storm of emotion passed behind those blue eyes of his, as though fighting to remember why they were both here in the vestibule of the First Congregation of Teton Ridge. Her stomach roiled and twisted in a storm of its own, and she didn’t know if it was a symptom from her impending migraine or a symptom of standing inches away from her ex-boyfriend.
Finally, he rubbed the back of his neck before giving her a curt nod. “Thank you.”
She wanted to ask him how he was holding up, but the slight shadow of his sunken cheeks told her that he wasn’t doing well. The stiff resolve in his square jaw similarly told her that he wouldn’t admit it.
Clearly, neither one wanted to be the first to run away from the history between them. She could make an excuse about needing to catch her ride, but what if he followed her outside and saw that everyone had already left?
Speaking of the motorcade, why was he still here? Why hadn’t he ridden in the family limos with his mother and siblings? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him, but he crossed his arms over his chest, his defensive posture suggesting he was more than willing to stand there silently and wait her out.
He reminded her of a court bailiff or a guard at the jail who stood by stoically as she interviewed one of her clients, annoyed by the assignment and pretending not to be counting the minutes until he could be out of her presence.
The longer Marcus remained planted there staring at her, the more her pulse pounded with annoyance. Was he not even slightly curious about what had happened to her? Or at least willing to be polite and pretend he cared?
What made it worse was that Violet desperately wanted to ask him all kinds of questions about his life. To find out what he’d been doing since he’d vanished from her life without so much as a see ya fourteen years ago.
Yet she doubted he’d be forthcoming with those answers, either. Instead she said, “I saw Tessa leave the service early. I hope she’s okay.”
Even to her ears it sounded like she was fishing for information rather than simply trying to engage him in conversation. But the alternative would have been to either stand there silently and let the awkward tension build or to dash away as though she had something to hide.
Plus, she had always been fond of Tessa and was legitimately concerned about his sister. Marcus might not be willing to talk about himself, but he’d never been able to hide his concern for his family.
For the first time, his eyes darted away from her, and he cleared his throat. “Tessa wasn’t feeling well, and a Secret Service agent took her to the command center tent to have the medics examine her.”
“Oh, no. I could go check on her,” Violet said, taking a step back. In fact, the migraine medicine wasn’t kicking in as quickly as she’d hoped, and the nausea bubbling inside her was growing worse. Having grown up around big events like this, she knew there’d be a staging area behind the church that would be quicker to access on foot. The thought of some fresh air and an anti-nausea pill had her pivoting to leave.
“Actually.” His voice was commanding and held the slightest warning. Violet paused midturn as he continued. “I’m going to be heading that way when I get done here. I’ll let her know you were concerned.”
The subtle, yet presumptive, instruction wasn’t lost on Violet. Marcus clearly didn’t want her going in the same direction as him. Or maybe he didn’t want her having any contact with his family. Which was too bad because the MACC tent was usually staffed with first responders and government employees who would be more than willing to assist her in finding alternate transportation to the airport.
Her neck stiffened with irritation, and she lifted her chin. “In that case, don’t let me keep you.”
He rocked back on the heels of his expensive leather cowboy boots but didn’t make a move to leave. “I’m waiting for someone.”
Violet felt the color drain from her face. Had there been someone else in the ladies’ room when she’d been in there giving herself a pep talk in the mirror? Was it his wife? She’d ina
dvertently heard through the political grapevine that he’d married a while ago, but she’d stopped herself from ever confirming the fact. In fact, she’d practically made it a personal mission to avoid any news about Marcus. After their breakup, she’d told herself that she had more important things to focus on and he didn’t deserve the headspace. But maybe that had been a mistake. Violet wouldn’t go into a courtroom without briefing the relevant facts of the case, so why had she shown up on his home turf so unprepared?
Instead of a wife coming out of the ladies’ room, though, the door to the men’s restroom sprang open, and two young boys spilled out.
“Jack didn’t use any soap when he washed his hands,” one of the children quickly said to Marcus.
“That’s cuz I finished before Jordan and didn’t touch the flusher, Dad.”
“Dad?” Violet heard herself squeak as her eyes darted between the identical boys and Marcus. “They’re...yours?”
She tried to swallow as a sickening wave threatened to upend the contents of her stomach. She put a hand to her lower abdomen as though she could stop the building discomfort, or at least the ghost of a long-ago pain.
“Yes,” Marcus said, putting an arm around each boy as all three sets of matching blue eyes blinked skeptically at her. “These are my sons. Jack and Jordan King. Boys, this is my...uh...an old friend of the family.”
“They...” Her throat spasmed, and she waited a beat before trying again. “They’re twins.”
It was more of a statement than a question. And an accusatory one at that.
“Yes,” Marcus replied slowly, one blondish-brown eyebrow lifting. “Why do you look so shocked? It runs in my family.”
She felt the perspiration dotting her upper lip even as a chill raced down her spine.
Because once, they were going to have twins.
She almost admitted as much aloud, but she was already shoving her way back through the restroom door, barely making it into the stall before the contents of her stomach tore through her.
Chapter Two
“Hey, lady? Are you okay?”
Violet was shocked to see one of the boys holding the stall door open, watching her closely after she’d finished heaving and flushed the toilet. She was even more shocked to see his twin brother and their father behind him in the cramped confines of the ladies’ room.
Marcus must’ve known how awkward it was for him and his two young sons to have witnessed her indelicate moment, because he said, “You left the door open. Jordan was worried and wanted to come check on you.”
She nodded because what else was she supposed to say? Get out? Leave me alone? She might’ve easily been able to say something like that to Marcus, but not to his young sons, who were so obviously concerned about her. Scratch that. One son was obviously worried. The other son peeking out behind his dad’s hip was wide-eyed, and his lips were curled down in disgust—as though he, too, might vomit soon.
“Is it a foodborne illness?” The one who must be Jordan asked the question. There was a small crease above his freckled nose as his narrowed eyes assessed her. “Or maybe a viral gastro-testnal infection?”
Violet blinked several times at the child’s attempt to use proper medical terms. “Uh, I don’t think so.”
She delicately stepped around him to make her way to the sink before carefully dipping her head down to rinse out her mouth and splash water on her flushed cheeks. Yet the boy followed her, his serious expression reflected at her in the mirror as she used a paper towel to dry her face.
“Do you have a fever?” he asked. “Or diarrhea?”
“Okay, Doctor Jordan, let’s give Miss Cortez-Hill some space,” Marcus said as he steered both of his boys toward the door, which was still wide-open. He glanced over his shoulder and told Violet, “Sorry about the intrusion. Jordan’s been really into WebMD and those emergency-room documentaries on TV lately. He ran in here before I could stop him.”
“Thank you for checking on me,” she told the boy. Even with all the humiliation still radiating through her, something tugged at Violet’s heartstrings. Of course, she would’ve preferred some privacy, but she wasn’t immune to the concern or the curiosity of the child, who did look pretty worried. Her hand shook slightly as she unwrapped one of the pastel breath mints some nice church lady had set out in a glass bowl on the counter. By the time she reapplied her lipstick—for a second time—her fingers were barely trembling. Her hair and eye makeup were beyond repair, she thought as she gave herself one last look in the mirror, but at least her migraine was already subsiding. The sooner she got away from Marcus and Teton Ridge, the better she would feel.
Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be anytime soon. The man and his sons were still there, waiting for her in the empty lobby area. She glanced out the wooden double doors leading to the steps outside and saw that many of the cars and news vans were long gone.
“You’re able to walk by yourself so far.” Jordan rushed to her side with his hands up, like a pint-size spotter to prevent her from falling down. “That’s a good sign.”
“I’d probably get dizzy and throw up, too, if I had to walk around in those kinds of shoes.” Jack, the other twin, frowned skeptically at Violet’s high heels. “Maybe you should just go barefoot.”
Violet bit back a smile. “I appreciate everyone’s concern, but I’m fine now. I promise. I just get these little headaches every once in a while, and they make my tummy unhappy.”
“Those are called migraines,” Jordan said with confidence. “Our teacher gets them every time we have rainy-day schedule at school and says they’re caused by stress.”
“Is stress like pneumonia?” Jack asked his brother. “Can we catch it if we’ve been in the bathroom with her?”
As his sons began a discussion on contagious diseases, Marcus dragged his hand through his short-cropped blondish-brown hair. Violet remembered he’d once worn it much longer, and it used to hold more traces of sun-bleached blond. Now, there were several stubby gray strands near his temples.
“Sorry,” he said to her over the boys’ heads. “You know how inquisitive kids can be.”
His words were probably well-intentioned, but they pierced her heart all the same. Actually, Violet didn’t know much about kids at all. She’d grown up an only child, and after everything that had happened when she and Marcus had split up, she’d shied away from interacting with young children when she could avoid it. It was just too painful. She shook her head. “Please don’t apologize for them. I think it’s sweet that they care so much.”
Unlike their father, who hadn’t bothered checking on her fourteen years ago when she’d miscarried their twins.
“I’d like to say that they usually don’t follow strangers into the bathroom and try to diagnose them, but this is the third time. This school year.”
“Oh.” She blinked several times.
“We didn’t follow Mr. Burnworth into the bathroom,” Jordan pointed out. “He was standing behind the bakery counter, and his face and mouth were all hard and mean-looking, and I asked him if he needed a tetanus shot because he might have lockjaw.”
Violet studied the boy. “You sure know a lot about this kind of stuff for only being... How old are you?”
“We’re six and three-quarters,” Jordan replied proudly, revealing a missing top tooth.
“That means we’re almost seven,” Jack explained, holding up the corresponding fingers. “We’re gonna have a big birthday party at the ranch, and you can come if you’re not contagious.”
“That’s not for two more months, though,” Marcus jumped in. “I’m sure Miss Cortez-Hill will be going back to Dallas way before then.”
She jerked up her chin. “How did you know I live in Dallas?”
Marcus shrugged, but not before she caught a flicker of something in his eyes. Guilt, maybe, because he quickly masked it by saying, “I figured i
t was a safe guess, seeing as how you were never one to stray too far from where your parents wanted you.”
The pointed jab was a red herring meant to distract her from the fact that he was trying to downplay something—likely the fact that he’d just overplayed his hand. Some of the best attorneys in Texas had tried the same diversionary tactic in the courtroom with her and failed miserably. She wasn’t about to let the guy who broke her heart get away with it. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Or maybe you’ve been keeping tabs on me, Marcus King.”
His eyes rolled a bit too dramatically and she had her answer, even if he tried to deny it. “It’s hard not to when our parents have always run in the same political circles. Or at least used to.” Marcus glanced away a little too quickly, but not before she saw the shift of emotion pass across his face. He cleared his throat, then added, “Speaking of which, we really need to get going. We’re due at the ranch for the graveside service.”
“Of course. Please give your mom my condolences and tell her... Wait. The motorcade already left. Shouldn’t you have been in one of the family limos?”
“Dad hates limos,” Jordan said. “We hadta come in the patrol unit because Dad is always on duty. You want to ride with us?”
“Yeah,” Jack added before either of the adults could respond. “You can sit in the front seat and turn on the siren if you want.”
Patrol unit? Siren? Violet reassessed Marcus’s dark tailored suit, his broad shoulders narrowing down to his waist and the shadow of a bulge directly above his right hip. Her ex-boyfriend was now a cop. And he was currently wearing a gun and holster at his own father’s funeral. He’d always been a fun-loving yet responsible guy. But perhaps he was taking his job a little too seriously.
She was about to explain that she hadn’t planned to attend the graveside service—which was supposed to only be for family and close friends—but before she could politely decline, Marcus answered on her behalf. “Boys, I’m sure Miss Cortez-Hill has other plans.”
Not Their First Rodeo Page 2