What was really pathetic, though, was how much it ticked her off that Wes hadn’t contacted her himself. Especially since he knew she knew about both little conferences. And even if his chat with Mel hadn’t involved Blythe, although she sincerely doubted that, she even more sincerely doubted that held true for the one with her mother.
And it was driving her crazy.
Crazier.
Because she’d already made herself nuts missing him. Never mind that, even if she found the cojones to get over herself, her fears, everything else still held true. No matter what, her past would be a liability. And this guy...if she could believe what she’d read, what she’d heard, Wes was a true prince among men. Someone who’d make his son proud one day, if he hadn’t already.
Someone who made her proud now—
“Blythe?” Quinn said, stuffing popcorn in her mouth. When Blythe scowled over at her, the girl jerked her head sideways. “The doorbell?”
Grabbing the bowl, Blythe crammed a handful in her own piehole. Or popcorn hole, in this case. “So answer it.”
“And if I get killed,” the girl said, unfolding herself from the couch to tromp across the room, “I’m telling Mom you made me.”
Since the likelihood was higher that Channing Tatum would materialize in front of them, Blythe wasn’t too worried. Until Quinn tramped back thirty seconds later and plopped back on the couch. “Jack’s dad wants to talk to you.”
Popcorn halfway to her mouth, Blythe froze. “What?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “Jack’s dad. At the door. Asked if he could talk to you.” Then she gave Blythe a quick scan. “Although you might want to fix yourself up first. You’re kind of scuzzy. Ow!” she said when Blythe smacked her with a throw pillow, then climbed off the sofa, madly finger-combing her hair as she tramped to the vestibule, her heart stumbling to keep up. And God only knew what her brain was doing.
“I think ‘scuzzy’ might be overstating it,” Wes said, grinning, when she got to the door. He was sexy as hell in a T-shirt and jeans, his hair all windblown, and everything... She shuddered. From love, from lust, from longing, the lot. “Although...” He did a quick body scan, then checked his watch. “It is three in the afternoon.”
Belatedly remembering that she wasn’t wearing a bra, Blythe crossed her arms over her chest. Stupid, she knew, since it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen what lay beneath the thin jersey. “Hey. I brushed my teeth. Everything else is gravy. Especially since I’m not going anywhere. And why are you here?”
“For you.”
“For...me.”
“Sure as hell not for Quinn. No offense, honey,” he shouted past Blythe’s shoulder, and Quinn shouted back, “None taken.”
“But...” Blythe was thoroughly confused. Turned on, but confused. “Nothing’s changed.”
“About how I feel about you? You got that right.”
“Not what I meant.”
Wes sighed. “You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I think you’re the one making things difficult—”
She jumped a little when he slammed his hand onto the doorframe, those lovely green eyes boring into hers. “Tell me you don’t feel the same way about me and I’ll walk away right now and never bother you again.”
“For heaven’s sake, Wes...” Blushing, Blythe angled her head toward Quinn.
“Good. She can be a witness. So? What’s it going to be? The truth, Blythe. Not some save-your-butt BS.”
“Wes!”
“It’s okay,” came from behind her. “I’ve heard worse, believe me—”
“And what if I do?” Blythe blurted out, her eyes stinging. “As I said, nothing’s changed—”
“Then let’s change it.”
“How?”
Wes shrugged, accompanied by a grin that managed to be sheepish, adorable and dead sexy all at once. Could that mouth multitask or what? “Think I could persuade you to put on real clothes? So we could take a walk?”
“Can I come?” Quinn said.
“No,” Wes said, then pinned Blythe again with that sweet, determined gaze. “Well?”
When her heart tried to leap in her chest, she smacked it back down. Because unless they’d both landed in some alternate universe over the past few days, she couldn’t imagine what he wanted to say. However, Blythe could count on one hand those moments in her life she’d consider life-changing, even if the first few—when her father had walked out, when Travis Fallon had broadcast to everyone in school that she’d lost her virginity to him—had blindsided her. Since then she’d gotten much better at reading the tea leaves, as it were, sensing the propitiousness before it actually hit. And if this wasn’t one of those occasions, she’d eat that bra she wasn’t currently wearing.
“All right,” she said, then hustled back to the guestroom to throw on said bra, a sleeveless top, a long skirt and flip-flops. And, okay, some mascara. And a spritz of perfume. Thus upping the Seventh Layer of Hell vibe to maybe the Third.
“Do not answer the door while I’m gone,” she called out as she smack-smacked past, grabbing her purse off the table by the front door. “And lock the door behind me.”
“Oh, now you don’t want me to answer the door,” Quinn said, then grinned. “Have fun, you two.”
“Brat,” Blythe muttered as she followed Wes out onto the small front porch, choked with pots of bobbing petunias and pansies. The lock barely tumbled into place behind them before Wes took her face in his hands and kissed her. And there was promise in that kiss, by golly. A promise she’d sure as hell never felt from any other man before.
“Wes...what...?”
“Do you trust me?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said. Because God help her, she did.
He took her hand. “Then let’s go.”
And wherever he was taking her, she would follow.
She just hoped God was in an extra-special, helping kind of mood that day.
* * *
To some people, Wes supposed it would seem weird, if not disrespectful, to take Blythe back to the same beach where they’d run into each other before. Not because of how things had ended that day, but because it had meant so much to Wes and Kym. But the coincidence was too great to be ignored—that they had somehow run into each other on that beach. As though someone—Kym? God? Some unknown angel assigned to the case?—was saying, “You need to revisit this. Rethink it. Look at things in a new light.”
So he had. Nonstop since his conversation with her mother. And the conclusion he’d come to was that if Blythe’s double rejection had forced him to dig deeper, to work harder for this woman who’d apparently never had anyone work very hard for her at all, then the temporary pain had been worth it.
Of course, nothing said she might not retreat a third time. There were no guarantees. But at least he’d know he’d tried, that he’d made his best offer. And she’d know he was serious.
That while she wasn’t the only thing in his life that mattered, nothing mattered more.
“Your mother’s quite a character,” he said as they walked hand in hand along the water, their shoes dangling from their fingers.
“You brought me here to talk about my mother?”
“Don’t see how we can move forward until we do.” At Blythe’s silence, Wes hazarded a glance. But she looked straight ahead, squinting slightly in the angled sun. “And I do want to move forward.”
A funny smile played across her mouth. “As in, to pretend the past doesn’t exist?”
“No, as in to say ‘screw you’ to it.”
“Easier said than done,” Blythe muttered, then said, “So what did she say? My mother?”
“How about you tell me what she said to you first?”
They came to a deserted dock; Blythe led
Wes out onto it, then lowered herself onto the edge. Wes followed suit, waiting. “Did she tell you she’d been sick?” she said at last.
“Not directly, but I got the gist.” He looked over. “You didn’t know, did you?”
Looking toward the opposite shore, Blythe shook her head. “No. True, we didn’t talk all that often, but that’s kind of a major thing to keep your only child in the dark about.”
“And she wouldn’t be the first parent in the world to do that.”
“I suppose. Except in this case it was one more example of how little our lives intersected. How little she wanted them to intersect. I mean, I would have been there for her, if she’d asked. Could have brought her up to D.C. to live with me, could have driven her to her radiation appointments...”
“You would have done that for her?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
He hesitated, then said, very carefully, “Still trying to win her love?”
“Still trying to be her daughter.” Her mouth thinned. “That’s all I ever wanted. Just some tiny—” she pinched her thumb and forefinger together “—acknowledgment of our relationship.”
Wes took her hand, kissed it. “And maybe after everything that went down—or didn’t—between you, she didn’t think she had the right to ask that of you.”
She met his gaze. “Is that what she said to you?”
“I’m pretty good at reading between the lines. She admitted she screwed up. And I gather she doesn’t think time’s on her side.”
“For what?”
“To fix things between you.”
At that, Blythe’s hand went to her mouth, tears flooding her eyes. After a moment, she lowered it, whispering, “Then why didn’t she say that to me?”
“Because she’s scared?”
Blythe’s waterlogged eyes remained steady on his. “She told me...she said she’s okay now. But that’s a lie, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, honey. You could be right. But she did say...” He paused.
“Don’t you dare stop there—”
“She said she hoped I could give you everything you never got from her or your father.”
Blythe’s first sob exploded from her throat like a rifle shot, reverberating over the water as Wes hauled her close. How long had it been, he wondered, since she’d given all those bottled-up emotions their head? Long enough, apparently, that it took several minutes to cry herself out, the sobs finally giving way to a long, shuddering sigh as she laid her head on his shoulder. When he offered her his handkerchief, she gave a soggy laugh.
“Who the h-hell still carries cloth handkerchiefs?”
“I do. Shut up and blow. You’re a mess.”
Another shaky laugh preceded a lengthy blowing session, following by more sighing. “Why does love hurt so damn much?”
“It doesn’t have to. In fact, rumor has it that sometimes it makes people very happy.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that rumor, too. Although I suppose...” She swallowed. “I suppose it helps if you know what you’re looking for. Instead of, you know, settling for substitutes. Not sure which shrink pointed that out—probably all of them—but I finally realized that’s what I was doing.”
Gently rubbing her shoulder, Wes kissed the top of her head. “Are you worried that’s what I am? Another substitute for the real thing?”
A long pause preceded, “No.”
“So you love me?”
She winced. “You would ask me that.”
“I sure as shootin’ didn’t ask you here to talk about the weather.”
A short laugh preceded, “Yes. But—”
Wes brought her face around to look deep in her eyes. “Do you believe I love you?”
“How about...I want to? But—”
“If things were different, if I wasn’t in politics, if you weren’t worried about your past...would you be willing to give ‘us’ a chance?”
Her pause felt interminable. Until, finally, she nodded. “Yes. Oh, yes. But—”
“Then enough with the ‘buts.’ Instead, options.”
She reared back to frown at him through red, puffy eyes. “Options?”
Wes held up one finger. “Option one—I don’t run for reelection.”
“Wh-what?”
“You heard me. I give up my seat in the house and go back to my law practice right here in St. Mary’s. Or Jack and I can relocate to D.C., whatever works best for you—”
“Are you crazy? No! Absolutely not! Of all the absurd...” She blew out a harsh breath, her forehead pinched. “I can’t let you do that. These people, they need you. Need someone who really, truly has their best interests at heart. For you to walk away from them for me...” She crossed her arms. “No. No way. Not happening.”
Wes smiled. “You sure?” When she glared at him, he chuckled. “All right. Then option number two—we turn the negative into a positive.”
Her forehead crunched even more. “What does that mean?”
He pried her hand away from her stomach to entwine their fingers. “This is the hard one. For you, mostly. It means we come clean about your past before anyone has a chance to dig it up.”
Blythe’s eyebrows flew up. “You can’t possibly be saying—”
“You want to help kids who feel disconnected? Then throw open that closet door, honey. Go public with your past. Show those kids how to turn their attitudes, their lives, around.”
“You mean...sacrifice my privacy?”
“Initially, yes. That’s why I said this would be harder on you. But I’m also talking about exploiting your greatest asset, which is your compassion. You remember when you told me about how, when you found that website, what it was like to realize you weren’t alone? That there were other kids going through the same crap you were? Now imagine having an even bigger platform to help those kids you care about so much.” He smiled, even as his heart was about to punch through his chest. “As my wife.”
“As your what?”
“Wife. Okay, let’s go with fiancée—it’s too soon to plan a wedding before the election, anyway...where are you going?” he said when she jumped up and took off back down the pier, her skirt flying behind her.
“Away,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Before I push you into the bay!”
Wes caught up before she reached land, spinning her around to see she was crying again. “Oh, hell, honey, it’s okay...I didn’t mean to push, but how else could I let you know how serious I was—?”
“You would risk your career for me?” She swiped at her eyes. “Or even give it up?”
“Yes to both.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re worth more than any of it. Because, after Kym, I never thought I’d find anyone with as much heart as she had. That may be the only thing the two of you had in common,” he said on a soft laugh, “but it’s also the only thing that matters. And I know what I’m asking of you, to lay your past on the altar. To lay yourself there, for that matter. That whole fishbowl thing—you’re absolutely right about that. But I’ll be right there with you. And for you. And frankly, if people can’t deal with the woman I love being a real human being with real issues—issues she overcame—then I don’t want their votes.”
She blinked. “You can’t mean that.”
“I’ve never meant anything more. Other than when I said I loved you. And I want you in my life. Mine and Jack’s—”
“Oh, dear God—Jack!” Her eyes went wide. “Even if I agreed to your insane idea, how could I do that to a kid—?”
“How about giving the kid some credit? He already knows you were no Goody Two-shoes. If anything, my guess is that’s what changed his mind about you. Because you’re real. And honest. And living proof that people can triumph over their mistak
es. Which we all make, honey. Because screwing up is what human beings do. And do not give me some malarkey about not thinking you’d be a good mother, because Jack and I can’t think of anyone who’d make a better one.” He crossed his arms. “So deal, sweetheart.”
Then Wes rested, as he would have in any debate, thinking he’d never made a more importunate—or important—campaign speech in his life.
He could practically see the wheels turning in her brain. “I’m not giving up my career,” she said, and Wes’s breath rushed from his lungs. Then he chuckled.
“Unless you’re secretly moonlighting as a stripper, I think we’re good.”
“With these boobs? As if.”
Wes laughed again, then sobered. “Although this will be a challenge, honey, I’m not gonna lie. For all of us. And I can’t guarantee how it will play out—”
“I know that,” she said, then let out a long, slow breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“This?”
“Or were you just yanking my chain about being your wife?”
Took him a second. “Are you sure?”
“Kiss me,” she said. So he hauled her into his arms and did. Several times. “Mmm, yeah. I’m sure.” She linked her hands around the back of his neck, smiling into his eyes. “Because like you said, screw the past.”
“Amen to that,” he said, grinning, and kissed her again.
Victory had truly never tasted so sweet.
Epilogue
“How is she?” Blythe asked breathlessly as she burst into the maternity wing’s waiting room, eerily pearlized from the surprise snowfall the night before. Behind her, Wes and Jack followed.
Grinning, a five-months’ pregnant Mel took her by the hand to lead her down the hall. “Mom and daughter are doing fine,” she said, and Blythe got all misty-eyed. April had refused to find out whether she was having a boy or girl, which had made decorating the nursery somewhat challenging. Then again, she supposed the human race had muddled through for a long time—and nurseries had gotten decorated—without knowing what equipment their little bundles of joy would be coming with.
“Blythe! Ohmigosh, you’re here!” From her hospital bed, a slightly rumpled April smiled, her arms filled with a tiny, pink-and-aqua-striped bundle. Patrick sat on April’s right, so clearly entranced by his new daughter he barely glanced up at Blythe’s entrance. And on her other side, an equally entranced kindergartner snuggled close to April’s shoulder. “Come look!”
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