Tired of lying on her stomach, Scottie sat back against the tree and opened her laptop. She launched Lightroom and began editing her photographs from last week’s convention. Many of them held promise for generating a profit online.
So engrossed in her work, she didn’t hear Brad approach until he was looming over her. “All work and no play makes Scottie a dull girl.”
She slammed the laptop shut and scrambled to her feet. “What do you want, Brad? I’m not alone, you know. My parents are inside.” She glanced up at the house, disappointed to see that her father, who had been standing at the family-room window for the past hour, had disappeared.
“Just calm down. I didn’t come here to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
She took a step back, away from him. “That was you last night, wasn’t it? Hiding in the bushes and spying on us while we ate.”
“I wasn’t spying on you, for crying out loud. I was hoping for a chance to talk to you alone. But that little douche-bag brother of yours has apparently appointed himself your bodyguard.”
“Get off my property, Brad.” She pointed at his Tahoe in the driveway. “There’s nothing left to say. Our attorneys will do all the talking from now on.”
“Come on, baby.” He grabbed her wrist, but she jerked her hand away and started walking toward the house. “Don’t be like this.” He fell in step with her. “I made a mistake. It’s nothing we can’t work through.”
“You slept with another woman in our bed, Brad. I could never get past that, even if I wanted to.”
“Look.” He took her by the arm and spun her around. “I understand you’re upset, and you have every right to be, but just give me a chance to explain how I feel. We used to be so good together. We could have that relationship again.”
While his remorse seemed genuine, she cautioned herself about falling into his trap again. “The sooner you realize our marriage is over, the sooner we can both move on.”
“Baby, please.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, trying to pull her in for a hug, but she pushed him away.
“Take your hands off my daughter!”
Hearing her father’s voice, stern but calm, she stole a quick glance behind her, where she saw him standing on the terrace with his rifle trained on Brad’s chest.
Removing his sunglasses, Brad squinted his bloodshot eyes at her father. “No need for weapons, Stuart. We’re all friends here.”
“That’s funny. Being on the receiving end of beer bottle grenades sure as hell didn’t feel very friendly to me,” Scottie said to her husband, then turned to her father. “Put the rifle away, Daddy.”
“I’m sorry about the other night, babe. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of control.” When Brad reached for her again, Stuart fired a shot in the air above his head. Ducking, Brad covered his head with his hands. “Jesus Christ, Stuart! Are you crazy?”
Scottie almost felt sorry for her husband. Almost. “Seriously, Dad. You’re not helping the situation. Put the gun away! Brad just wants to talk for a minute. Then he’s leaving.”
Stuart aimed the rifle at Brad’s car in the driveway and shot out the taillight. “You hurt my daughter, and I’ll put the next bullet in your head. There’s nothing left for you here, son. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”
Mouth agape, Brad stared at his shattered taillight. “I have no intention of hurting her, Stuart. All I’m asking for is a chance to talk to her in private.” When Stuart appeared skeptical, Brad added, “Just for a minute, sir.”
“Fine, but I’m staying right here.” Stuart retired the gun to the crook of his arm with the barrel aimed at the sky, standing guard like a sentinel.
Scottie turned to Brad. “He’s right, you know. There is nothing left for you here.”
Brad dropped to the ground next to the nearest tree. “I tried, Scottie. I really tried. For the sake of the babies as much as for you. Truth is, I haven’t felt like myself in a really long time. Like I’m living someone else’s life.”
She sat down beside him. “We’ve both changed, Brad. It happens. It’s no one’s fault.” She noticed for the first time the traces of white powder under his nose, the telltale sign of her husband’s most recent bad habit. Which explained a lot about his volatile behavior of late—hurling bottles at the house and hiding out in her parents’ shrubbery. All the more reason to keep him on a short leash. Setting him off could bring harm to her family or herself. And arguing with him might provoke him into going to the police with his knowledge of the Missing Baby Case. For all she knew, the police had filed their investigation away in a folder of unsolvable cases, but she couldn’t afford to take that risk.
“Your parents warned us against getting married so young,” he said. “Maybe we should have listened to them.”
“No doubt Mom and Dad are the experts on marriage. They’re celebrating their thirty-fifth anniversary this week, if you can believe that.”
“That’s impressive,” he said, and she could tell he meant it.
“I don’t regret our time together, Brad. I hope you understand that. I learned a lot about myself. I see the world through a different set of eyes because of our experiences.”
“What will you do now?” he asked. “Will you stay in Richmond?”
“For as long as it takes Reuters to hire me.”
He chucked her chin. “Photographing the world was always your dream. Before you let your obsession with having children get in the way.”
She cocked her head to one side. Obsessed? Had she really been that consumed with having a baby?
“I still want a family, but now is not my time,” she admitted.
“I wanted children,” Brad said, “because I saw how much you wanted children. But I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a father.”
“You will make a great father,” she said. “One day. But first you need to stop snorting your paycheck up your nose, and figure out how to support a family.”
His body grew rigid. “You knew?”
She shrugged. “I suspected. I’m an investigative reporter. Not much gets past me.”
His eyebrows shot up.
She smiled. “Okay, so maybe a lot gets past me sometimes. But trust me, I noticed when you didn’t contribute a nickel of your income to our household expenses. You need to get some help, Brad. Before you get in over your head. If you’re not already in over your head.”
He avoided her gaze. “Brandi, the girl from the other night, she’s letting me stay with her as long as I don’t do drugs.”
WTF? she thought. Ten minutes ago, he was begging for a reconciliation, and now he is practically admitting to being in a relationship with Brandi. He isn’t sad about the breakup of his marriage. He is upset over losing his Sugar Mama.
“In that case, you’d better wipe your nose before you go home.” Scottie got to her feet. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”
“I understand.” He stood and kissed her cheek. “I’m glad we had a chance to talk.”
“I wish you well, Brad.” She stood glued to her spot under the tree and watched her husband round the corner of the house to the driveway, walking out of her life for good after eight long years.
Scottie joined her father on the terrace. “Seriously, Dad, was the gun really necessary?”
“Damn right,” Stuart said. “After he went ballistic on you the other night, someone needed to set him straight.”
“He’s far from straight.” Scottie watched Brad’s Tahoe leave the driveway. “But I’m relieved that he’s somebody else’s problem now.”
9
Scottie spent the rest of the day on Sunday in the family room watching the post-Republican and pre-Democratic convention coverage on the twenty-four-hour news networks. She could hardly wait until the end of the election, when the spotlight on the candidates and poll statistics no longer dominated the news.
Early in the afternoon on Monday, she drove downtown to her father’s offices to meet with
Gloria Simpson. Scottie found her no-nonsense approach and snarky disposition appropriate for a divorce attorney. She had no doubt Gloria could deliver a go–to-hell message with a smile when warranted.
“You’ve protected your assets well,” Gloria said, pleased to see the deed to Scottie’s house was in her name alone. “Obviously, custody won’t be an issue. As far as alimony is concerned, if what you tell me is true, Brad earns enough on his own to support himself. We are in a good position to proceed.”
With her safety no longer a concern, after the meeting, Scottie moved back into her house on West Avenue. She needed time to pay bills and do laundry and pack for her trip to Philadelphia.
She’d jumped at the opportunity when a friend offered her condo in the historic district of downtown Philadelphia for the week of the Democratic convention. “You can stay all week if you’d like,” Amy had suggested.
Imagining the money she could save on hotel expenses, Scottie said, “I’m tempted, but I hate to inconvenience you by running you out of your own home.”
“Pu-lease. I won’t even be here,” Amy said. “I’m going with a group of friends to Rehoboth Beach. Only politicos are staying in town during the convention.”
The four-hour drive to Philadelphia seemed like eight. After dropping her things at Amy’s condo, Scottie changed into her running clothes and went for a power walk through historic Old City. She wished she had more time to explore the museums, old churches, and historical monuments. She spent Tuesday afternoon wandering around the Liberty Center, familiarizing herself with the space. She shot more than a thousand images during the first twenty-four hours, capturing the animated faces of politicians, speakers, and Democratic Party leaders. She took photographs of flags and banners and the crowd at large—plenty of material to sell online to patriotic Americans looking for any and everything washed in red, white, and blue. Unfortunately, not even one of her photos would be of interest to the news services. The one special moment she needed to make her career—the unique photograph that stood out from all the rest—had yet to present itself.
On Wednesday night, she was standing in line at concessions when she spotted Guy across the lobby deep in conversation with a strictly business-looking woman—a congresswoman if Scottie had to guess. Her stomach flip-flopped at the sight of his handsome face and muscular body in a dark-blue suit and red-striped tie. He didn’t appear to see her at first. When another minute passed and he still didn’t notice her, she began to wonder if he was ignoring her on purpose. The end of their night together at the Jefferson remained somewhat of a blur. Did I do something to offend him? she wondered.
She continued to watch him as discreetly as possible while she moved forward in the concession line. He eventually looked her way, and their eyes met. Scottie waved. He smiled back, but he took his time ending his conversation and making his way through the crowd to her side.
Guy leaned down and kissed her cheek. “It’s nice to see you, Scottie.” He eyed her camera. “Are you getting some good shots?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. My images are about as uninspired as the photographer.”
The woman in front of Scottie stepped away, clearing a space at the concession stand. “Would you like something?” she asked Guy.
His gaze bounced back and forth between the overhead menu and Scottie, as though he was struggling to make a decision. “You know what. I’ve been at this convention center all day, and I could use a real drink right about now. Care to join me?”
Scottie hesitated. “I’d hate to miss Byron Caine’s speech.” She wanted nothing more than to leave the crowded Liberty Center and go to a quiet spot with this attractive man whose smoky gray eyes turned her insides out, but she didn’t want to appear overeager. She’d been out of the dating game for so long. Did women still play hard to get?
“I’m sure we can find a bar with a television,” Guy said.
The impatient concessions worker tapped the counter. “What’s it gonna be, lady?”
“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want anything after all,” Scottie said, and stepped away from the counter.
Guy took her by the elbow and led her to the nearest entrance door.
“I’m blaming you if I miss my big break,” Scottie said.
“I hardly think Byron Caine is going to reveal any deep dark secrets about his wife.” He held the door open for her. “Where are you staying?”
“In a friend’s condo off South Broad near Washington. What about you?”
“Farther north near Rittenhouse Square. Why don’t we go somewhere near your place, and I’ll catch a taxi back to my hotel from there?”
They took the Broad Street Line to the Ellsworth-Federal Station, then walked two blocks north to the first bar they came to, a pub specializing in local craft beers. The restaurant was crowded, but a table opened up by the window a few minutes after they arrived. The waitress seated them at the table, handed them menus, and recited a list of craft beers in a West Virginian mountain accent. They ordered a pitcher of Yards Philadelphia Pale Ale. As they waited for the waitress to return, they watched Byron Caine address the nation in closed caption on the big screen television behind the bar.
The pitcher arrived and Guy filled two frosty mugs. “So…” He handed a mug to Scottie. “I trust you sorted things out?”
“Depends on your definition of sorting things out. We made peace. We’re leaving the rest to the divorce attorneys.”
Scottie watched Guy’s face for his reaction. Aside from a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, his expression remained impassive. “Normally I would say I’m sorry, but after what he did to you, I think you’re much better off without him.” Guy sipped his beer, and then licked the froth off his upper lip. “Is he the reason for your inspiration crisis?”
Scottie slunk back against the wooden bench seat. “Not in so many words. For the most part, I’m ecstatic over getting my life back. Problem is, now that I’m finally free to pursue my career, I don’t have the vaguest idea how to go about doing it.”
“Maybe you need a little more time to clear your head,” he suggested. “After all, it’s only been a few days since your breakup.”
She paused, considering his suggestion. “You might be right. I definitely have a lot of cobwebs obstructing my vision. Nothing has looked right to me from behind the lens in a long time.” Not since the Five. Not since Mary. “I can’t seem to connect with my subjects. Definitely not these politicians with their phony smiles and empty promises.”
He smiled. “There you go again with your strong aversion to politics.”
Scottie winced. She needed to stop being so strong-minded about her opinions. “You’ll be relieved to know I’ve ordered a vice grip for my mouth. I’m expecting it to arrive any day.” Unable to help herself, she added, “But you have to admit I’m right. Reporters have scrutinized every aspect of the candidates’ lives. They’ve investigated them from every angle. As parents and politicians. Their personal convictions and work ethics. Thanks to the constant media coverage, the American people already know everything there is to know about our nominees. And they’ve photographed them every which way but naked.”
Guy burst into laughter. “I think you’ve identified your opportunity for a big break. I can see it now—photographs of Catherine Caine in the nude going viral on every social media outlet in the country.”
Her eyes twinkled with excitement. “And you, Mr. Secret Service Agent, are just the man who can sneak me into her hotel room.”
His face grew serious. “I never said I worked for the Secret Service. That is something you”—he pointed at her—”conjured up in your own mind. If you want to know the truth—”
Raised voices from the bar prevented Guy from finishing his sentence. An attractive woman, whom Scottie guessed to be in her late thirties, was arguing with her equally attractive, much-older date, her husband judging from the rock on her left hand.
Oblivious to attentive ears around him, the husband s
aid, “You’re only voting for a Democrat because she’s a woman! Mark my word, the first time she has a hot flash, Catherine Caine will press the big red button and start a nuclear war.”
His wife slammed her martini glass down on the bar. “You’re an ignorant pig! You don’t deserve to have the right to vote.” She grabbed her bag and marched out of the restaurant, leaving her husband alone at the bar.
Guy let out a soft whistle. “There you have it—the proof of why a man should never marry outside his party.”
Scottie’s mouth flew open. “What a chauvinist thing to say! Not to mention a huge exaggeration. You don’t seriously think that, do you?”
“Hell yes, I do. We don’t discuss politics in my house, not since my parents nearly divorced over the issue of hanging chads in the Bush versus Gore election in 2000.”
Scottie stared at him. “You’re making that up.”
He held up his hand, making the three-fingered salute of the Boy Scouts. “I swear to you I’m not.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s taking things too far. I don’t mean any disrespect to your parents, I don’t even know them, but for intelligent people to be incapable of carrying on a friendly debate is uncivilized. That’s what’s wrong with this country. We spend too much time arguing over things that don’t matter and worrying about being politically correct, and not enough time discussing the real issues.”
“You make a valid point.”
“I’m tired of thinking about politics. Let’s talk about something else for a change.” She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Tell me about growing up on the ranch?”
Sipping their way through the pitcher of beer, she peppered him with questions about his family and life on the ranch. She sensed he was holding back on her, that something in his family’s past saddened him a great deal. But she cautioned herself not to pry. At least until she knew him better. And she hoped like hell she got the chance to know him better. She enjoyed his company. She felt connected to him in a way she hadn’t to another human being in a long time. She found the conversation between them playful and teasing one minute and serious the next. In the dim light, his gray eyes reminded her of fog creeping over the Blue Ridge Mountains at daybreak. His sexy smile gave her tingly feelings in her tummy, and the brush of his knee against hers sent shock waves to parts of her body that had been numb for far too long. She was gearing up to ask Guy back to Amy’s condo for a sleepless night of uninhibited sex when his cell phone rang.
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