Her sister scooted to the edge of the mattress and leaned her elbows on her knees. “But, Vena, the writing is good.”
She thrilled at Thia’s admiring tone. “You think so?” As she’d written, the story flowed, and she felt it growing stronger with each page. Probably all authors felt like that. But—
“I’m no expert with fiction, but I’ve done my share of copy editing for marketing and public relations programs. I’m genuinely moved by what you’ve written. I actually choked up in the part where Lola falls down the abandoned well, and Brady tears up the countryside to find her.”
One of the scenes she’d never use for the museum, but the emotions had just poured out. “That’s exactly what I was aiming for. You really think it’s good?” Vena’s throat tightened at hearing her sister’s praise.
“Are you submitting it to a western magazine?”
“No, it’s a project for the museum. I’m in line for a promotion. So I thought having museum volunteers perform scripted action would make an eye-catching attraction.” She swept a hand at the pages strewn across her worktable. “Once I started writing, I couldn’t stop.”
Thia’s stare sharpened. “This is more than scenes for a skit about old clothes. There’s a real story here.”
“Now you’re an expert on historical textiles, too?” Vena’s voice thickened with tension.
“Don’t get defensive. I’m paying you a compliment.” Smiling, she shook the manuscript pages in the air. “These are the start of a novel.”
“I knew I’d written too much but never counted the pages. I just got into the idea and had fun.”
Thia stacked the papers on the desk and pointed to another stack. “Those, too? Looks like you have seventy or seventy-five pages here. That must amount to a healthy start on a book.”
Vena fought back a grin. “I’ve always wanted to write a novel. Nana knew my secret and had faith I eventually would.” She shrugged, downplaying the importance of Thia’s support. “But being a novelist wouldn’t have been acceptable for the Fenton family name.”
“You’re being too hard on us. Poppy’s and Oswald’s expectations weren’t that tough.”
Really? Vena snorted back a laugh. “Did we share the same parents?”
Thia sat on the bed and leaned forward. “They were strict about grades and attending college. That was the only world they knew, and they wanted us to share it. If nothing else, they prepared us to cope in the real world. I’ll bet if you talked to them, really talked, you’ll learn what I learned when my marriage fell apart.” She swallowed hard before continuing. “They just want us to be happy.”
“Where are Poppy and Oswald these days?”
“New Zealand until the summer and then South Africa. When was the last time you talked?”
Guilt stabbed at her chest, and Vena thought back to a rushed conversation echoing with airport announcements. “A couple of months ago.”
“Really? Well, you know you have to be the one to initiate contact.” She waved a hand at the papers. “Tell them about this, or maybe the journal you found. That’s old and might relate to their studies. Frankly, I don’t think they knew how to relate to a dreamer like you.”
Vena wanted to believe Thia, but years of thinking one way didn’t change from one moment to another. “Thanks for the kind words about my story. Now I have to figure out what to use for the brochure and what to toss.” Maybe she should give Poppy and Oswald a call…
“That’s a cinch. You’ve written some good descriptions and with a little editing, they’ll sparkle. Just say the word and I’d be glad to help.”
Vena stared at her sister, mouth agape. When had Thia learned generosity?
“Close your mouth, Vena, you’ll catch flies.”
“Sorry. I’m a little surprised at this side of you.”
“Having your husband dump you for a dumb, young model can devastate your self-image. This opportunity to use my abilities to help Finn came at just the right time.”
“So, there’s no chance you’ll reconcile?”
“None.” Tightening her lips, she stood and straightened her skirt. “This morning, I received word from my attorney. Thad’s filed for divorce. You believe that? He’s the one who cheats, and then files for irreconcilable differences. Doesn’t even give me the satisfaction—” She spun and walked to the window. “Don’t look at me with pity. I’ll be fine.” Her shoulders rose as she sucked in a deep breath. “I always am.”
Vena wished she knew what to say. Comforting a vulnerable Thia was not a skill she’d ever needed. “Why did you come to my room? Did you want to see me?”
Thia stopped fidgeting with the curtains and turned. “I wanted to discuss what you’re wearing to the cocktail party.”
Ah, the despicable party. Vena glanced at the closet door and then straightened when she noticed it too was ajar. Her body tensed. Thia had obviously inspected her wardrobe. “I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“View this with an open mind, okay?” Thia walked to the closet and opened the door. “Your choice of clothing must be a careful one. You shouldn’t call unflattering attention to yourself, or to Finn.”
The hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Vena sensed a confrontation coming. “What do you mean?”
“The things you wear are fine for everyday here in Dry Creek. They’re so…” her hand moved in a rolling motion. “…you. They show the artistic side of Vena.” She reached inside, pulled something off the rack, and held it behind her back. “The image for the cocktail party is the serious, supportive ‘friend’ of a potential candidate for Montana senator. See the difference?”
Unfortunately, she did and hated the image. “Dull. You want me to dress dull.”
“Not exactly dull.” Thia extended her arm out to her side and primped and pulled at the garment on the hanger. “See, I’d call it conservative. You don’t want to hurt Finn’s chances, do you?”
Not any more than she already had. “No, of course not.”As she peered at the navy blue fitted dress with white collar and cuffs, her thoughts wrapped up in Thia’s last comment. Was there a destructive reason behind all her mishaps since learning of his political interest? She quickly dismissed the thought—she was not that type of person.
“I didn’t think so.” Her gaze narrowed and she stepped closer. “You two have something going, don’t you?
While nibbling at her lower lip, Vena glanced away, reluctant to share anything about Finn at this moment. Especially since they’d not put a label on what they had together.
“Just as I thought. You’re good for him. He’s more self-assured since I saw him last. He knows what he wants, and he’s reaching for it.” Her glossy lips spread into a smile. “I wish you both luck.”
Vena listened for sarcasm in her sister’s words and didn’t hear any. “We don’t have any plans. Just one day at a time for now.” How she wished to announce something more substantial than their pretend engagement.
****
“Quaid, are you listening?” Irritation filled James Burtell’s gruff voice. “You have to introduce your platform into every conversation this evening.”
Finn rubbed his chin and blinked hard. He hadn’t been listening—he’d been worrying about Vena and how she was doing. Thoughts of her were never far from his mind these days. A welcome distraction from the pesky details of the campaign. “Sorry, James. We’ve hit this pretty hard for the past hour. I’m solid on what to say.” He picked up a mug, sipped the dregs of cold coffee, and grimaced. “Any fresh coffee?”
Burtell jerked his head at an assistant sitting at the end of the conference room table. “Evans, coffee.”
The gawky young man scrambled to his feet, upsetting a file folder on the table. He hesitated, shooting quick glances between the strewn papers and Burtell, and then fled to the hallway.
Finn wondered if he’d ever been that eager to please. The kid seemed more like a high school student than a college political science intern.
Burtell laid his hands on the table and leaned forward. “So, tonight’s your big night.”
“That it is.” Finn stood and stretched to ease his tight back muscles. “If I haven’t mentioned it, thanks for your efforts on my behalf. I know attending tonight took some rearrangement of your calendar.”
“All part of the game,” Burtell scoffed. “This was a brilliant idea, Quaid. Piggybacking this gathering on the Cattlemen Association’s meeting is pure genius. The broadest possible exposure for your candidacy for the least expense. An inspiration. Keep those thoughts coming.”
“Actually, the idea was Vena’s.”
“That woman who dresses funny? She’s got some political savvy.” James pulled a chair close and sat, his stare intent. “That the gal you’re going to marry?”
He grinned. “Yeah, she’s the one.” A picture of Vena’s wide smile and bouncy curls flashed in his mind. A warm glow washed through his heart as he remembered their time together over the past few days. The more details they’d shared about their lives, the more he’d wanted to know. And the more he’d learned about her fears and dreams, the more he wanted to protect her.
This must be love. Spending the rest of his life with anyone but Vena was unimaginable. At that thought, he braced for the usual long-term commitment panic to hit.
Nothing.
His subconscious must have been contemplating the idea of marriage to Vena for a while and he hadn’t realized it. Why else could this feel so right? A sense of purpose and calm washed through him. One decision made.
“Good. I’m glad you’re following the group’s recommendation. We are certain the Montana populace wants a stable, married man.” Burtell’s voice gained speed. “Too much in the news lately about divorce and straying husbands. To swing the pendulum the other way, we need one who will demonstrate a respectable family image.”
How clinical. Finn leaned forward in his chair. “But that’s not why—”
The assistant reentered the room. “Here’s the coffee. Could I interrupt just a minute? Mr. Burtell, you have a couple phone messages.”
“Hold on a minute.” Finn waved away the assistant and turned to his supporter. “James, you don’t understand—”
“Damn.” James exploded, crumpling the paper slips in his hand. “Can’t they make a simple decision without me? Sorry, Finn, I’ve got to return these calls before my office closes. We’ll talk later.”
****
Thia pulled a carnation from the back of the floral centerpiece, broke off the stem, and turned to Vena. “This will look sweet on your dress.”
Vena wrinkled her nose. The flower would add insult to injury. She hated the dress Thia had chosen, and this final touch would make her appear too much like her mother. “A pink carnation? I don’t know, Thia. This really isn’t my idea of—”
“Remember, it’s not your idea that counts. Think about what will look good for Finnian’s public. That’s what matters.”
Vena pulled at the belt cinching her waist and yearned for her beloved loose-fitting dresses. She hated everything about tonight, from the flower and the dress to the public image. Most of all, she hated the prospect of making idle conversation with strangers for the next two hours. What could she possibly have to say to these people?
This ordeal was only for Finn—and their future. Tonight was her last chance to prove she could be involved in social events for his campaign and not disgrace him. The cocktail party would work. As long as her involvement meant remaining on the periphery and away from the spotlight, she believed she had a chance of success.
“Thia, promise you’re my backup? If I’m trapped, rescue me.” She spun, infusing her gaze with pleading. “Better yet, let me stay back with the caterers.”
“Don’t be silly, Vena. All you have to do is nod, smile, and speak in vowels.”
“What?”
“You’d be surprised how far you can go with answering just by saying ‘Oh’ or ‘Ah’. I’m amazed men haven’t caught on to this female conversational trick. Believe me, it works all the time.”
Vena took a deep breath. “If you say so…”
Thia flung out her arm in a wide arc. “Well, what do you think of the room?”
A dozen tables, each with a complimentary but unique centerpiece, dotted the back half of the room. Bartenders arranged bottles and stacked glasses behind a bar along the left wall. Next to the entrance door stood a table flanked by red, white and blue helium balloons and covered with leaflets, buttons, and bumper stickers bearing Finn’s smiling face.
Thia believed Finn would love this surprise.
Vena had her doubts because the bombardment of Finnian Quaid everywhere was imposing. “Everything looks great.” She wished she could muster more enthusiasm. Every time she thought of Finn campaigning for political office, her stomach knotted. If he made that choice, they had no future together.
“I considered bringing in a podium but decided against it. That would have spoiled the informal atmosphere.” Thia turned, her finger tapping her lips. “What do you think?”
The uncertainty in her sister’s voice surprised Vena. “You’ve done a wonderful job. Every detail has been covered, and the room is perfect.”
Thia smiled and squeezed Vena’s hand. “Thanks. I needed that.” She glanced at her watch. “Fifteen minutes. I’ve got to check on the caterers, give instructions to the bartenders, contact the—” Her gaze narrowed and focused like a laser toward the back of the room. “What’s he doing here?”
Vena glanced over her shoulder and spotted Jared. Dressed in a suit that accented the breadth of his shoulders, he stood out among the uniformed wait staff. The man cleaned up well. “I’m sure Finn invited him.”
“I don’t know why. What can that man add to this gathering?”
“A friendly face and a bit of support. I’m sure that’s why Finn wanted him here. Plus, you can’t deny his contacts helped with the preparation. Calm down.” Vena reached out a hand to pat Thia’s arm and felt her rigid muscles. “Let me check with the caterers. I overheard the original arrangements. This is great, Thia, and I know it’ll be a success.” In a spontaneous moment of shared insecurity, she hugged her sister before setting off to find the caterer. How ironic to wish her sister well on a venture that could ultimately ruin her own chances for happiness.
Tonight might be the ultimate test of her acting ability.
Chapter Eighteen
IF MEASURED BY THE number of handshakes, the party was a success. Finn shook yet another rancher’s hand and tried to match the man’s name with the pertinent facts Burtell had pummeled into his memory. Blevins—south of Yellowstone, mid-size acreage, prime concern was water rights.
The party was only fifteen minutes old, but he knew the smile stretched across his lips looked mechanical, and his hand ached.
He scanned the room full of Stetson and Rossinol hats for Vena while still maintaining a thread of the group’s conversation. Every time he searched, he saw Thia in her shimmery red dress—welcoming arrivals, introducing herself to those she hadn’t met—always smiling and laughing.
But where was Vena? If he was feeling strained by the crowd, he feared Vena would be ready to bolt.
He wanted her by his side so he could whisper words of encouragement and just touch her. From her, he could get assurance he wasn’t making a fool of himself. All he wanted to hear was her voice, to have her soft tones soothe his nerves.
“Sorry, what was that?” Finn snapped his thoughts back to the man before him. He focused on the man’s face as his brain searched for his name. Not Evans, not Beeman…Blevins. “Yes, I am in favor of the proposed dam on the—”
A woman entered his line of vision, paused, and then moved straight toward him. The woman wore a plain navy dress with a stupid little white collar and a pink flower pinned to the front. The legs below the knee length hem were spectacular, and utterly recognizable.
His gaze jerked back to the woman’s face. Pain stabbed his chest. W
hat had she done to herself? A Vena different than he’d ever known stood before him, her mouth twisted into a hesitant smile. His thoughts reeled at her transformation. He continued his conversation as best he could. This woman was a stranger. Someone he would have passed on the street without a second glance.
Where was Vena’s spark, the glint in her eye, the sass in her smile?
Her closeness and the scent of her familiar perfume excited him. Vena could be at his side as a politician’s…friend? Lover? Wife? He had to touch her. Surreptitiously, he edged his shoe sideways against the side of her navy pump. They’d made a connection, and now he could relax.
Vena nudged him back, hard.
His gaze flicked to her face, and his stomach clenched. A frozen smile and narrowed eyes. He glanced around the group of a half dozen men, all similarly dressed in mail-order suits with bolo ties. What had he missed? His gaze drifted back to Vena.
Her hazel eyes flashed in the direction of the man monopolizing the conversation and back.
When he zeroed in on the conversation, he understood her nonverbal messages. “I have to disagree there, Mr. Chambers.” Finn felt several heads swing in his direction. The fact that Alex Chambers owned the largest grazing acreage in the state persuaded most people into agreement. But this topic was too dear to Finn’s heart to remain silent. “That section of Helena dates back to the earliest settlement of the territory. The buildings are an integral part of Montana’s pioneer history.”
“Hogwash.” Mr. Chambers scoffed. “Can’t let weak-hearted sentiment overrule sound business decisions. Those people have been dead for a hundred years, and the land’s not earning out its potential.”
Finn felt Vena nudge his foot again. If he glanced in her direction, he knew what message her gaze would telegraph.
“We have to look to the future.” Chambers rocked on his boot heels. “Razing those dilapidated shacks to make room for rent-generating offices—”
Vena stomped her heel on his left toe and leaned hard. Her gaze flashed fire, and she jerked her head in Chambers’ direction.
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