Texas Temptation

by Kathryn Brocato

  He and Lily had never once brought up the subject of marriage, and he couldn’t predict what her reaction would be if he did. “So, what next? I give them the wife, and then they wonder why I don’t have children? Do you have a stack of folders with adorable kids for me to choose from? What about the perfect family dog while we’re at it? Do you have a selection of ranch style homes in great suburban neighborhoods? Where does it stop?” The idea was absurd, and Ford knew his reaction was snowballing out of control, but surely they had to see that this wouldn’t work.

  “We’ll just take it one step at a time,” Charlie said calmly, as though Ford were overreacting. “There’s no need to panic.”

  “I’m not panicking,” he said, though fleeing the room seemed like a good idea. “I’m simply pointing out the fact that this is absurd. I can’t believe we’re even discussing this.”

  “Do us a favor, and at least consider it. You can either ask your current girlfriend or take a look through the candidates’ files. If one of them seems like someone you could work with, we’ll call her in for a meeting. No need to get ahead of ourselves, and definitely no need to freak out over this.” Robert’s tone said that Ford was a man who needed to be talked down off the ledge, though he was clearly the only sane person left in the room.

  “You guys can all stop looking at me like I’m the crazy one. You’re sitting there asking me, no telling me, to either propose to someone I’ve been casually dating or to pick a wife out of a stack of what? Half a dozen folders? This is outrageous.” Ford sat back in his chair, not sure if he should laugh or leave.

  Charlie was unmoved by his outburst. “Listen, it’s our job to figure out where your campaign is weak, and that’s what we’ve done. Your opponent is running all over town convincing people that you’re not a good candidate because of your marital status. That’s something we can fix very easily.”

  “And I suppose reasoning with voters isn’t a possibility? There’s no chance we can address the rhetoric and remind them that I’m an individual and not having a wife doesn’t make me an inferior legislator?” Ford knew without a doubt he was being reasonable. Why nobody else around the table could see that was beyond him.

  “You know as well as anyone that acknowledging when your opponents point out your weakness can make you seem defensive, and I’m sure you’ll also agree that there’s not enough time to turn popular opinion around on this issue before Election Day. It seems like you have two choices. Either find a fiancée, or spend all your time addressing the reasons you don’t have one, at the expense of the issues you actually care about.” Charlie sat forward, leaning on his elbows, and looked Ford in the eye. This was no joke.

  He flipped through the folders, a dull ache forming behind his right eye. Each woman was beautiful and clearly chosen with respect to her “candidate’s wife” appearance. They were all degreed professionals with clean criminal background checks who would be willing to stay at home with their children or quit their jobs if his campaign needs required it. Ugh. Who would be willing to give up her career for a man she hadn’t met? He respected the hell out of stay-at-home mothers. He’d been raised by one, and nobody in their right mind would argue that she was less competent or influential because she didn’t have a job. The idea of a woman being so committed to her marriage and family was appealing, but he’d never ask someone to derail her professional aspirations for him—though it would be amazing to be worth that much to someone. Hell, the mere suggestion that there was a woman alive who would care so much about him was enough to set his mind racing, but this wasn’t genuine. A woman being so eager to marry a congressman, anyone, that she’d be willing to agree to it before so much as meeting him turned his stomach. That wasn’t love. That was desperation and social climbing, and he definitely wouldn’t be bringing children into any such transaction. He wondered if Lily had ever thought about having children

  “We don’t see any way around this, not if you want to win the election.” Charlie checked his watch, the fluorescent overhead lights glinting off the face. “Think it over if you need time. I’ll set up some meetings when you’ve decided who you’d like to meet. Or I’ll get started on your concession speech. Your choice.”

  • • •

  Across town at a photo shoot, Lily mentally transported herself to a sunny Hawaiian beach, squishing warm sand between her toes while a hibiscus-scented breeze gently ruffled her hair. If she concentrated, she could smell the coconut sunscreen on her skin and the cool weight of the fruity daiquiri in her hand. Anything to get her mind off the pain in her arm, burning and screaming at her to stretch, to move, to do anything but continue to hold perfectly still.

  “Beautiful, that’s wonderful,” the photographer murmured as he snapped away. “If you could turn your wrist just a little to the right, please.” He waited while she adjusted. “That’s it, thank you, love.”

  Click, click, click. Shots from every angle.

  The bright lights burned her eyes, and before long, the sweat beads forming at her hairline would snake down her face, ruining her makeup if she didn’t do something. Surely the photographer would get the shot before her limbs gave up on her. They were shooting a luxury handbag ad, but the gorgeous bag dangling precariously from her manicured fingertips was little more than an afterthought in the exotic layout. Lily was almost glad they’d dressed her in nothing more than a lacy bra and panties set, since the set lights were so hot her thick, stylized makeup was about to melt off her face. She was perched on a fuchsia velvet chaise, her legs positioned so that she was supported on the very edge, but just barely, holding a squirmy snow-white Persian kitten in the hand not burdened with the handbag. The prospect of returning her legs to a natural angle and taking a long, refreshing drink of ice cold water was enough to tide her over. If her years of professional modeling had taught her anything, it was that getting the shot right the first time, no matter how uncomfortable she was, was always preferable to getting stuck going for round after round until it was right.

  The buttery-soft, petal pink leather of the handbag she was holding was what she imagined angel feathers felt like. Good lord, it was a gorgeous bag. She’d been lucky to book such a good campaign. Prestige retailer, local shoot, wide distribution. At twenty-seven, she couldn’t ask for much more, and yet, there was so much more that she wanted.

  “I think we’ve got it, doll. Thank you.” The photographer lowered his camera and motioned to his assistant to take his equipment.

  With a mind of their own, her arms immediately fell to her sides once a perky blonde photographer’s assistant collected the kitten resting in her lap. Another assistant retrieved the handbag, plucking it unceremoniously from her hands. Finally free to flex and stretch, her fingers sang out in relief as she moved, slowly returning to her human form. Pulling herself up from the set, she debated heading over to craft services for the ice cold water she’d dreamed about before even slipping into the robe hanging just off set waiting for her. The whole crew had been watching her pose in a lacy bra and panty set all day anyway, so what was a little bit longer?

  To her great relief, she didn’t have to choose. A young, blond man dressed in black skinny jeans and a skintight black tee shirt pushed a cold water bottle into her hand. “Thank you.” Her gravelly voice sounded like she’d found an oasis in the desert, and it wasn’t far from the truth. Slipping one arm into the robe while the other held the bottle to her lips, she quenched her thirst and protected what was left of her modesty.

  Her eyes fell on a wall-mounted clock, and she choked on her sip. The shoot had run much longer than she anticipated, and if she didn’t get back into street clothes and halfway across town in the next thirty minutes, she’d be late. The only chance she had at creating a more fulfilling career for herself, for actually using her social work degree for something more than a coaster, was to make it happen. Her father and a small board of directors were likely already well on their way to the planning meeting of the nonprofit organization she was star
ting.

  After her husband, Nathan, died, she realized how close she’d come to becoming one of the women she knew who lost their husbands and had nowhere to turn when it was time to rebuild their lives. She’d been exposed to army life so briefly, but many of the women and men married to soldiers that Nathan knew had been entrenched in military culture. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that she’d be looking at Soldier On becoming a reality. She should have, though, because her parents were enthusiastic social activists, and her dad was always ready to jump on a great idea. He had gone straight to work, using his community connections and experience from years of working in social services. It was perfect, really, since he knew nonprofits from the inside out.

  Coming in late and in absurdly heavy makeup was not exactly the best way to inspire confidence. She could either be on time, or she could be bare-faced. Not both. Soldier On was her dream, and she didn’t want to waste time getting ready. The board would get a laugh when she showed up with the elaborate makeup, but she’d be there on time.

  Ducking out of the crowd of crew members and company executives, she rushed to the dressing room for the quickest wardrobe change of her life. After shoving her legs into jeans and yanking a light sweater over her head, she pushed her feet into a pair of ballet flats and practically ran out the door. The afternoon traffic was already building, and the sun was squarely in her eyes for the entire drive to the downtown conference room they’d rented, but she made it.

  Her dad sat at the head of the table, barely suppressing a smile at her appearance when Lily finally blew into the meeting, out of breath and sweating like she was still under the hot lights. “Glad you could join us,” he teased.

  Lily took her seat at the table and pulled a bottle of water out of her bag. As she listened to a recap of their last meeting, she unscrewed the top and focused on slowing her breath. Her phone vibrated, showing a line of missed texts from Ford. He must have forgotten that she was working all day and then meeting with the board members. Typical. She enjoyed the casual dating relationship she shared with the congressman, but he didn’t seem to take her schedule quite as seriously as he did his own. He probably needed her to attend a fundraiser or some kind of facility opening for a photo opportunity.

  The group continued with the meeting as she pushed her phone to the side and focused on the folder full of information she’d been handed. “Is this current?” The timeline on her information sheet showed that they could be operational a full six months earlier than she’d anticipated.

  Her father gave her a wide smile. “It’s all there. We have some serious needs that must be met before we’ll truly be up and running on all cylinders, but if all goes according to plan, this project is all systems go. We got word on the grant late last week, so we know the basics will be covered. That’s all we need to push forward.”

  Her phone buzzed again, skipping gently on the table.

  Ford. Again.

  For a casual relationship, he certainly was persistent.

  She sneaked a peek this time, wondering vaguely if he could have an actual urgent need.

  She could forgive the excessive texting, in gratitude for him being willing to be her date for Carly’s wedding. She’d been nervous about inviting him to be her plus one, knowing how many men read too much into being asked to go to a wedding, but he’d been wonderful. Attending with Ford meant she had been able to enjoy the events without having to worry about keeping a date at arm’s length, always watching what she said so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. He knew the score, and he was on board. They always had a good time together, but that was it. No spending the night, no talk of the future, no wondering if this relationship was going anywhere. Because it wasn’t. Ford was fun to be around, interesting and smart, and incredibly charming. They had undeniable chemistry, but every time she was tempted to give in to her attraction to him or her desire to take things further emotionally, she’d think of Nathan. She and Ford saw each other every time he was in town, but he was in D.C. much of the year, giving her the opportunity to carefully tamp down any developing feelings before she let things go too far. If he wondered why she never responded to his unspoken advances, to those times when their kisses were heading in the direction of becoming more, he was too much of a gentleman to push her and mention it.

  The meeting wrapped up, and she read his most recent text.

  Ford: I know you have a meeting after work, but would you text or call when you have a minute?

  Smiling to herself, she tapped out her reply: Hey, what’s up?

  Ford: Are you free tonight? I need to talk with you.

  Lily: Um, sure. Is everything okay?

  Ford: Everything’s fine. I’ll come over if that’s okay. Say around 7?

  Lily: Sounds good. See you then.

  Chapter Three

  That afternoon, Ford followed the hostess to his mother’s table in the Golden Eagle country club dining room. Jessica Woodall Richardson’s posture was ramrod straight as she watched the golfers on the ninth hole outside the window. To the casual observer, she probably appeared to be lost in thought, a woman doing nothing more than enjoying a leisurely afternoon. Ford knew better. She’d likely known he’d arrived from the moment his tires hit the parking lot. That may be a bit of an exaggeration, but the fabled mother’s eyes in the back of her head had only sharpened over the years. He leaned over, kissed her cheek in greeting, inhaling her signature Chanel No. 5, and indulged her when she appeared surprised that he’d arrived.

  “Oh, Rutherford, dear. I’m so glad you could make it.” She tucked a strand of her silver bob behind an ear, revealing a huge diamond stud earring. Rivulets of condensation snaked down the side of her water goblet, and he wondered whether she’d already ordered her midday chardonnay, or if she’d waited for him.

  “Me too, Mother.” He held his tie against his shirt as he sat across from her. Lunch at the club was buffet style, but he knew better than to fill his plate before she decided it was time to eat.

  A waiter arrived bearing a glass of white wine, and she accepted it with a regal nod. After a delicate sip, she dabbed her lips with the linen napkin and rose. “Let’s get some lunch. I’m starving.”

  Back at the table, Ford dug into his risotto, salmon with pesto, and asparagus spears while Mother picked at a few dry assorted greens and a tiny piece of salmon. She sipped her wine and leveled him with a disappointed look, though even a thorough search of his memory revealed no slights or wrongdoing. What had he done this time?

  “I’m glad you could spare an afternoon for me before you go back to D.C.” Ah, there it was.

  “I’ll be here for the rest of the month, except for a few days here and there, and of course I always have time to see you. I’ll be in town for in-district work and campaigning until we reconvene after the election. If I do, in fact, still have a seat to return to and I’m not cleaning out my desk.” He was a dutiful son, kept in touch consistently, attended family functions, and showed up for family dinners. His mother was never happier than when she was Queen Martyr, though, dishing out guilt like it was birthday cake.

  “I hope you weren’t hoping for a leisurely fall recess.” She fanned herself dramatically. “I don’t know how anybody gets anything done this time of year, between the holidays and the elections. Speaking of, how’s the campaign going?”

  “Fine, I guess.” He speared a bite of fish, not sure it was wise to broach the subject of his possible engagement. The team was right; the quickest way to shoot down Coldwell’s criticism of his single status was to get engaged. If he had to choose from the list of strangers, he likely would’ve dismissed the idea outright. But having Lily as an option made the idea a bit less outrageous.

  “Hmm. That doesn’t sound fine to me. What’s the matter, sweetheart?” She set down her fork and folded her hands in her lap, concentrating on his face. She wasn’t a warm, touchy-feely mother, but she did fully support his congressional campaign.

  “Sam Coldwe
ll.” He took a long drink of ice water, figuring what the hell, can’t hurt to tell her. “He’s killing me on the family values front. It’s gotten bad enough that we have to do something, and fast.”

  “Who is this Coldwell, anyway? I’d never even heard of any Coldwells before this one decided to go after your seat. Besides, I can’t imagine that anyone listens to him. If anyone is firmly rooted in family, it’s you.” She drained her glass and pushed it to the edge of the table.

  “He’s attacking me on the fact that I’m not married with children like he is.” He clenched his fist. “And according to my advisors, it’s working.”

  “Oh, I see.” She had the grace to avoid his gaze. The fact that he wasn’t married was a sore subject between them.

  “Yeah.” He set his lips in a grim line, both sorry he’d brought it up and perversely glad to put it out in the open again. Nothing ruffled Jessica Richardson. Nothing except being reminded of how her merciless meddling had ended his first and only serious relationship.

  “That’s unfortunate. Well, I can’t apologize any more than I already have.” She sat up straighter, summoning her signature poise. Not for the first time, he wondered if an actual steel rod supported her spine.

  “I don’t want another apology. It’s ancient history, and we can’t turn back the clock now, can we? I need to figure out what I’m going to do about my marital status.”

  “What do you mean? What do they want you to do about it? If you’re not married, you’re not married.” Her eyes were wide, and she leaned forward.

  “Charlie says the only way to win this thing is to get engaged.” He pushed risotto around his plate, his appetite gone.

  “Really? That doesn’t sound like Charlie.” She raised her eyebrows, but her forehead remained unlined. Jessica Richardson was on a first name basis with her plastic surgeon and was practically married to her aesthetician.