“Your mother agreed to be VP? You’re kidding. What about President Jackson?”
“He was leading in the polls, and the party put their heads together and decided he had a better chance. But yeah, she’d been planning it since before Vegas. In fact, the rumor about the Bryant League, even if it wasn’t true, helped turn the tide her direction. Made her both sympathetic and tough and gave her a base with her new party. And her female voters have come over with her, so…it’s a strong ticket.”
“Oh my, who are you?” Laughter from Kelsey’s end of the phone and with everything inside her, Glo wanted to be with her, curled up on the leather sofa of the Marshall home.
“I don’t know,” Glo said, the words just rushing out. “I…oh, Kels, I made a terrible mistake. Tate asked me to go with him and I said no.”
A hiss at the end of the phone. “Oh boy.”
“Poor man stood there practically letting his heart bleed on the floor, and I…I did nothing. My mother was standing there telling me how much she needed me and I…I even asked him to stay and…”
“Your mother fired him.”
“I know. I know. But it was David all over again, though. Me begging him to stay, him walking away. And I just…I got angry. I couldn’t believe after all his promises that he was just…just leaving.” She sighed. “I should have gone with him. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“I do. All your life you’ve wanted your mother to choose you. And suddenly she does, and you’re going to throw that away?”
“For Tate. The man who would protect me with his life, and I just stood there and shook my head.”
“For Tate, the man who has a scary past that shows up in Vegas hotel rooms. I know that wasn’t his fault, but Tate has a lot of skeletons. The kind that gets people he cares about hurt.”
She closed her eyes. “Don’t say that.”
“His girlfriend was killed because of a choice he made.”
She swallowed. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, honey. I’m just giving you a brutal dose of reality.”
“Feel free to take it down a notch.”
“How about this. I like Tate. A lot. He’s a Marshall. And I do think he’d die for you, Glo.”
“That’s not making it better.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s just…he asked me who I was. Accused me of being all things to all people.”
“You are. You show up in people’s lives, you stick around, you are who they need you to be. Tate needed someone who believed in him, despite his scars. And that was you, Glo.”
She still believed in him. “He believed in me too. He liked the Glo I was, with the leather and the tattoos and the sappy country songs.”
Kelsey’s voice turned soft. “She was my favorite too.”
Tate’s words at the door, softly spoken, tunneled in and drew blood. Wow. Did I read that wrong.
No, Tate you didn’t.
But maybe Glo didn’t know who she was if she didn’t have the Belles and her sister and her mother…and Tate.
“I guess the question is—is loving Tate worth the trouble he brings?” Kelsey asked.
“You sound like a country song.”
Laughter. “Listen. I’m not really talking about Tate’s past, or even life, but rather…the trouble with love is that it’s always going to involve risk. You putting yourself out there, not knowing if you’ll be loved in return.”
“That sounds like something you said in Vegas when you talked me into singing my song. Which started this entire fiasco.”
“I think my words were something along the lines of stop being so afraid and sing your song. I can’t be responsible for what happened after that. But I think it’s more than just putting yourself out there to let Tate love you… What if you stopped blaming yourself for Joy’s death and just…just let God love you?”
“And now you’ve been around Knox and his family too long.”
“Not long enough. But you’ve spent your entire life showing up for everyone else. What if you let God show up for you? Show you that you don’t have to do anything for Him to love you.”
“I think I’d be setting myself up for another broken heart.”
“Glo—”
“No, Kels. Why would God show up for me? Please… How are things with you and Knox?”
A pause, then, “Would you be upset if we eloped?”
Glo drew in a breath. “Really?”
“I don’t know. I think he might ask. And if he does, I’m saying yes.”
“But it’s only been a few months—”
“I’ve waited for this man my entire life, Glo. He’s the one. He makes me feel safe and, most importantly, I like the person I am with him. He made the songs stir out of my soul.”
“You should write that down.”
“I have. I am. I have a slew of songs for you to put music to when we get back together. Please tell me it’s soon.”
A knock came at the sliding door behind her and she turned. Sloan was standing there, pointing to his watch.
“I don’t know. Maybe a few more months. After my mother gets elected.”
“Glo—give God a chance.”
“I gotta go, Kels. The VP is waiting.” She hung up before Kelsey’s words found too tender soil.
As it was, her question dug deep and hung on as she opened the door to Sloan.
What if you let God show up for you? Show you that you don’t have to do anything for Him to love you.
God didn’t work that way. Really. She knew from personal experience.
“Ready for an amazing evening?” Sloan said. He’d rolled his cuffs down and donned a coat. “I promise, it’s going to change your life.”
Yeah, that’s what she was afraid of.
12
Please don’t let her be the weak link here.
“You look amazing, by the way,” Ford said as he held out his hand, completing their operational disguise. Scarlett took it, and he wove his fingers between hers, like they might be an actual couple.
Scarlett still wasn’t sure how she’d gone from her runners and a T-shirt to being mic’d up and wearing a glamorous dress that could have been worn by a movie star during some red-carpet event. When Ford had brought it over, along with his brother and their crazy idea, she’d been stretching out after her mile swim along the coast.
Feeling pretty invincible.
She was going to nail the PRT. Not just the swimming, pull-ups, and push-ups, but the buddy tow too.
All because of Ford. Because he’d flipped a switch and decided to play on her team. Not only had he helped her get her car running, but he’d shown up every morning for the past week for buddy tow training, instructing her on technique, giving her tips, and cheering her on until today she swam all two hundred yards towing him, his face above water the entire time.
She could even take him in the freestyle swim—his combat crawl was too bulky for him to keep up with her.
Which meant when he’d asked her for help catching, uh, a terrorist, of course she said yes.
Because she was on his team too.
Hooyah!
“Can you guys hear me?”
Tate’s voice came through the mic from somewhere inside the Hilton San Diego Bayfront.
They’d scoped out the place yesterday as tourists, walking down the boardwalk, then into the grand arching gold-and-teak lobby, taking the escalators to the second floor where tonight’s private event would be held in the Indigo Ballroom. They peeked into the meeting rooms across from the ballroom, then wandered out to the terrace, two stories high and overlooking the pool.
Scarlett had stood staring out at the ocean, smelling the breezes, acutely attuned to Ford and Tate chatting behind her, and had to remind herself that she was here to catch a bomber.
Not dance the night away.
Not eat shrimp cocktail and monk fish.
And definitely not to fall for tall and handsome Ford Marshall, who would be d
ressed to the nines in a tailored tuxedo.
Tate had shown up three days ago with a crazy story about a bomber and Glo, whom he was no longer protecting—well, officially, because the guy had Personal Security written all over his face. Scarlett believed every word of his crazy story when he outlined the plans, complete with blueprints and contingencies, on her kitchen table.
They’d go in undercover, as guests via tickets Tate had procured for them, and keep their eyes out for Graham Plunkett, aka, the man with the fire tattoo.
She could see it in Ford’s eyes—he wasn’t entirely sure that Tate wasn’t a little off his rocker. But brothers stuck together, and Ford had the night off, and she had a sneaking suspicion that he had something else on his mind too.
Because she couldn’t deny the tiny spark that still simmered between them. And why not—she’d spent the week with her arm around his amazing chest, towing him to safety, his body tight against hers.
His big, muscled body that possessed nearly no buoyancy. He hadn’t even helped her once by kicking—had made it worse by letting out all his breath, becoming dead weight in the water.
As if he really wanted her to blow her instructors away.
More than once when they reached shore, she’d wanted to keep hanging on. Wanted to take him up on the offers to have breakfast together or maybe go for a run.
She was already having a hard time keeping herself afloat around him.
And then he had to show up on her doorstep in her imagined tux. Only in real life, he wore a gray suitcoat, a pair of dress pants, and a gray tie. The man should wear that kind of uniform every day—the guy could sell calendars.
And that’s when the entire thing turned into a fairy tale.
She blamed the dress too.
The amazing, black tulle dress with an embroidered corset and sheer top and okay, Scarlett had never felt invincible before in a dress, but this conjured up emotions that her Navy uniform didn’t have a hope of eliciting. To think she hated wearing dresses. She’d only donned the last one because it had been Reuben Marshall’s wedding, and even that had been a ten-year-old black thrift store affair.
But this dress…
Ford let her hand go, opened the door for her, then she slid her hand over his arm, like it might be a real date, and headed into the hotel lobby. The chamber music of a string ensemble drifted into the space as they took the escalator to the second floor.
“I hear you, Tate,” Ford said, turning to her as though he might be saying something. They were using a tiny earpiece, and Tate had wired the transmitter and her microphone into her beaded necklace and connected it all via Bluetooth to the phone in her purse.
No screaming tonight.
“Where are you?” Scarlett said, glancing at Ford. He had found her eyes, was smiling.
Clearly, he was enjoying himself too.
“I’m inside the ballroom. I checked in with Sly and the guys, and they’re with Reba and the others in the greenroom across from the Indigo. Mingle, and keep your eyes peeled.”
Ford took her hand again as they reached the top of the escalator, assuming the role he’d taken at her mother’s place.
Boyfriend.
She tried not to remember the way his hands tangled in her hair when he’d kissed her.
White-gloved bouncers stood at the door, and Ford handed them a couple invitations.
The place rivaled any of the Vegas glamour she remembered from her childhood—gold carpet, brocade wallpaper. White table linens at fifty or more round tables were set with gold plates and long-stemmed glasses, each centered with a spray of red, white, and blue roses. And at the end of the room, a row of American flags crossed a long platform. Covered wings blocked the back doors and served as entrances to the platform.
Already, conversation filled the room, bedecked guests at high-top cocktail tables. She shot a look around the room and spied Tate. He wore an unobtrusive black suit jacket, a matching vest and pants, and a blue shirt, accented with a dark blue tie.
Yes, the Marshall men knew how to clean up, in and out of flannel.
He nodded to them, then grabbed a flute of champagne from one of the waiters and started searching the room.
It made sense, maybe, this idea of having a man undercover. Plunkett might veer around regular security, but he wouldn’t know Tate and especially Ford and Scarlett were watching. They all looked like upscale millennials paying attention to politics.
Ford handed her a flute of champagne, and Scarlett held it but didn’t drink.
Rules. She had them for a reason.
And especially on nights like this that could cajole her into believing she might be someone else. What do you want, Red?
Ford’s question came back to her as they wandered the room. As more than a few sultry blondes cast an appreciative eye on her “date.”
She couldn’t deny a weirdly possessive pride.
They conversed with a couple from San Francisco. A man from Arizona, and a cowboy from Wyoming with whom Ford talked big cattle.
In this world, she forgot that he had cowboy in his blood.
By the time dinner was served—prime rib and asparagus—she had tried to put her eyes on every attendee, even excusing herself after dinner to go to the restroom and scan the crowd.
“Sorry, Tate,” she said, standing at the edge of the room. “I don’t have anything.”
“Me either.” Tate bore the tiniest edge of frustration in his tone.
She was winding around the tables, dodging servers clearing plates, when a man came up to the mic and tapped it on. Tall, handsome, with dark brown hair and a warm smile.
“Hey, everyone. Welcome to tonight’s private event. I hope you enjoyed dinner. We have a lot going on tonight, but I wanted to kick off this evening’s fun by inviting our host and hostess, Senators Isaac White and Reba Jackson, to the stage.”
He backed away, clapping, and the crowd rose to the entrance of the two candidates. Which seemed a little weird since, weren’t they running against each other?
Isaac welcomed everyone first. A handsome man—dark hair, graying at the sides, and a body of a thirty-year-old. She’d seen him on television a few times. Military hero, a former SEAL, rancher, and political conservative. According to rumors, he ran tough mudders and still broke his own horses.
No wonder Ford liked him.
Senator White offered a few words of welcome, then tossed it off to Senator Jackson. A beautiful woman with her blondish red hair, she wore it up, tidy but casual, and a high-necked black, sequined dress that fell all the way to the floor and outlined her model-curved body.
She gripped the podium in both hands. “Hello, California! Are you ready for victory?”
A searing high-pitched whine split the room. She clamped her hand over the mic, cutting off the noise. The sound died.
A bus boy came in and retrieved their plates as a technician slipped onstage, carrying another mic, and replaced it.
“Sorry about that,” Senator Jackson said as she spoke into the new mic. She indicated the lavalier mic pinned to the collar of her dress. “I guess I really want to be heard.”
The crowd laughed. “We have a fantastic evening planned for you…with some excellent speakers, including my daughter…”
The crowd offered more applause.
“Would you like to meet her?”
Scarlett reached her seat and sat down as Senator Jackson turned and gestured offstage.
Glo Jackson owned the room. To be able to sashay onto a stage with that much poise, that much confidence…
“You okay there, bro?” Ford said, and she looked around to spot Tate.
Poor man was standing to the side, near the doors, his eyes glued to the stage, nearly white. Of course he knew she’d be here—that wasn’t a surprise.
Maybe he was simply undone by the impact of Glo shining under the bright lights. She wore a white dress that hugged her body, black heels, and diamonds at her neck and ears. With her hair curled and tufte
d like it might be a halo around her head, she looked like a princess.
Scarlett felt like Cinderella next to her.
Even in her amazing dress.
Ford put his hand over hers on the table and squeezed.
Glo air-kissed her mother and waved to the audience.
“Isn’t she beautiful?”
Glo rolled her eyes to her mother’s praise.
“And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
She stepped back and the tall, dark-haired man who’d introduced them leaned in to the mic. “I do too. And I plan on marrying that woman.”
Glo glanced at him. Her smile remained intact, but Scarlett could recognize a woman surprised.
“You know how it is. When you meet the right one, the one you’ve been waiting for your entire life? Suddenly it doesn’t matter if it’s been weeks, or days, or even hours—you need that person in your life. Need their smile, their laughter, their wisdom. Need the way they make you feel invincible.”
Like she might be seduced by his words, Scarlett looked at Ford. His strong jaw, the way his fingers curled in hers, so natural, as if they belonged entwined.
She needed him. And not just as a teammate, but…
He picked right then to look at her. To meet her eyes with his devastating gaze and yes, he could probably see right through to her soul, but she could see his too.
What do you want, Red?
“In fact, what do you say I ask her right now?”
No…no…even Scarlett, who didn’t have a romantic bone in her body—okay, maybe a few, but really, she’d never dreamed of roses and sunlit beach walks—knew this wasn’t the way to a woman’s heart.
Except, maybe, if she craved the limelight.
The room exploded in cheers as he stepped up to Glo and took her hand.
Went to his knee.
The applause died, the audience straining to hear his words. “Gloria Jackson. We’ve known each other since childhood. I love you, and I know you love me. I think the only way to kick off this victorious campaign is one way…”
He produced a box and opened it. “Marry me.”
Glo let out a breath.
Scarlett couldn’t help but find Tate again. Oddly, his space by the door was vacated.
Tate Page 25