Emily's continued insistence on celibacy, in addition to her equally annoying insistence on a quickie divorce, was enough to put Jordan in a distinctly grouchy mood as he knocked on the door Kimberly had indicated. Grouchy, in fact, was a mild word to describe his state of mind. Ready to bite the head off anybody who offered him even marginal provocation would have been a more accurate description.
Flinging open the door without waiting for a response to his knock, Jordan walked into a sparsely furnished office where Michael and his campaign manager, Jeff Greiff, were deep in conversation. Various flow charts and colored graphs were spread out on the coffee table in front of them.
"I gave instructions not to be interrupted." Michael looked up, not attempting to hide his annoyance at the intrusion. His annoyance faded to surprise when he saw his brother. "Oh, Jordan, it's you. How are you?"
"Fine."
"You wouldn't know it by looking at you," Michael said with snide satisfaction. "The honeymoon doesn't seem to have agreed with you. Where did you go?"
"I'm fine. The honeymoon was fine. You and I need to talk." Be damned if he was going to reveal the existence of his home in the Colorado mountains, Jordan thought.
Michael frowned. "Later, maybe. Sorry, little brother. As you can see, I'm knee-deep in crap. This isn't a good time."
"We're just discussing the latest polling data," Jeff put in, trying to explain his employer's curtness. "It's important for Michael to get a good grasp of these numbers as soon as possible. A lot of difficult decisions are hanging in the balance right now, and we need to reconcile the needs of the voters with the needs of the moneymen."
Jordan turned very slightly, just enough to bring the campaign manager into his line of sight. "Ever considered the possibility of making decisions based on what you think is right, as opposed to what the polling data say?" he asked with deceptive mildness.
"We can't do that!" Jeff sounded horrified by the mere suggestion. "Good heavens, that would be far too risky."
"How so?" Jordan kept his question amicable.
Michael looked impatiently toward his brother, his features sharpening into scorn. "God, Jordan, what's with you this afternoon? I mean, how naive can you get?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
"Okay, let me spell out the political reality for you. Bottom line, I have to get elected before I can worry about what's right and wrong. It's no good having a million great ideas for reform and new legislation if I can't get elected. To get elected, I need money. Lots of money. To get money, I have to be sure my stated policy positions don't offend the guys with the money."
"How about finding a few issues you care about and then persuading the voting public to agree with you?"
"Bypass the moneymen, you mean? And how do you propose that I persuade voters to adopt my point of view if I can't buy TV ads?"
"Get out and meet the voters in person," Jordan suggested. "Explain exactly what you want to do for them, and for the state."
Michael gave an impatient snort. "Yeah, that's a really good way to go. Back in 1950, it might even have gotten you elected. Nowadays, explain any of your proposed policies too closely, and your opponent will eat you alive with attack ads."
Jordan looked at his brother for a long, silent moment. "What are you planning to do if you lose this election, Michael?"
"He's not going to lose," Jeff said quickly. "Michael is beginning to catch the attention of the voters. More than thirty percent of them recognize his name already, and it's more than a year to the election. If you can believe it, your wedding to Emily Sutton actually improved his numbers among suburban moms by 2.75 percentage points."
"I'm real glad to have been of service," Jordan said. "Anytime I can help out with a discarded fiancée, just let me know."
Michael's gaze narrowed, as he finally registered the fact that his brother might not be feeling one hundred percent cordial about the events leading up to his wedding. "Look, little brother, I'm up to my ass in alligators right now. Does this conversation have a point? Are you here for some specific reason?"
"Yes. I need to speak to you."
"Then go ahead. Speak."
"I need to speak to you privately."
Michael glanced toward his campaign manager, then gave an airy wave of his hand. "Don't worry about Jeff. He knows all my secrets."
"Maybe, but he doesn't know any of mine, and I'd like to keep it that way." His patience exhausted, Jordan bundled up the various spreadsheets and graphs of polling data and shoved them into Jeff Greiff's arms. Then he walked over to the office door and held it open.
"I believe you should find something in that little pile there to keep you busy while I talk to my brother," he said pleasantly. "Goodbye, Jeff. I'll be sure to have Kimberly give you a buzz when Michael is free again."
Jordan's manner was so commanding that Jeff obeyed without protest. With a startled glance toward Michael, he scurried through the door and Jordan quietly closed it behind him.
"Was that little drama really necessary?" Michael directed a scowl at his brother, then walked to the window. He yawned and made a show of watching the traffic zoom past. "Your honeymoon definitely doesn't seem to have agreed with you," he said. "What's your problem? Was Emily as boring in bed with you as she always was with me?"
Jordan let the red mist clear from his eyes before he answered. "As far as my wife is concerned, you get one free ride, Michael, and you just had it. If you ever speak disrespectfully about Emily again, be prepared to face the consequences."
"For God's sake, Jordan, let's not fight about Emily Sutton. She's trash, and definitely not worth it."
Jordan didn't even realize he'd swung a punch until his fist connected with his brother's jaw. Michael staggered back, banging into the wall, cradling his chin in his hands. "Are you crazy?" he mumbled. "Damn, I think you've broken my jaw!"
"I doubt it. Your jaw is as thick as the rest of the bones in your head. Besides, I gave you fair warning."
Michael stumbled to a small fridge in the corner of the room and pulled out a bag of ice, holding it to his face. "Look, it may come as a surprise to you to hear this, but I don't exactly harbor tender feelings toward your new wife."
"Why not?" Jordan asked. "She's doing a pretty damn good job of protecting your ass from those alligators you were just talking about."
"Protecting me?" Michael's handsome features aligned themselves into an expression of incredulity. "How do you reach that amazing conclusion? And before you answer, let's just say I'm having a little difficulty accepting that on Friday morning Emily Sutton was engaged to me, and by Saturday evening, she was married to you."
"Cut the crap," Jordan said tersely. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to? I know that you dumped Emily on Friday morning, not the other way around."
Michael continued to look aggrieved. "Okay, so what? Maybe I did dump her. But I had my reasons, and I certainly didn't expect her to run straight to you for consolation! Just how long had the two of you been carrying on behind my back, anyway?"
Belatedly, Michael seemed to decide his final question might fall into the category of comments his brother considered disrespectful, because he hastily backed away, his arm raised to protect his jaw.
"Don't judge Emily by your own rotten standards," Jordan said coldly. "You're the one who was unfaithful, not her. And before you start protesting your innocence, I know all about your trysts with Hector Romero's wife."
Michael spluttered a protest, then fell silent when Jordan looked at him with something akin to pity. "It makes no odds to me, Michael, but if I were hoping to become governor of Texas, I'd try a little harder to keep my fly zippered. Especially around other men's wives."
Michael gave a hard crack of laughter, then winced and pushed the ice back against his jaw. "That's rich, coming from you."
"Yeah, well, I'm not trying to get elected to public office." With Emily it had mattered, but with his brother, Jordan didn't attempt to deny the rumors that falsely linked his name to a
succession of bored married woman. "Besides, I wasn't engaged to anyone until Friday of last week. And then again, Hector Romero isn't one of my biggest campaign donors."
Michael turned away. "Is that why you came here? To lecture me about my sex life?"
"No. As far as I'm concerned, you can screw your way to electoral oblivion if that's what you want. It seems to me that if you don't lose because of sexual misconduct, you're going to lose because you're allowing Jeff Greiff to micromanage your campaign into the dust."
"You're dead wrong," Michael blustered. "Jeff Greiff has a winning record, and you don't understand the first thing about running a high-tech, professional campa—"
"Right, so you've told me, many times. But I'm not here to debate your strategy for winning the election. I'm here because I want to know the real reason why you broke off your engagement to Emily. Three months ago you told me she was the perfect wife for a man running for political office. It was one of the smarter things you've ever said, because she obviously is a gift to any aspiring politician. So why the sudden change of heart?"
Michael shrugged, evading his brother's gaze. "We weren't compatible—"
Jordan quelled a rush of impatience. "Try again, Michael. And be warned, I'm going to stay here until I get the truth out of you. Remember, you're the one who has a tight schedule today, not me." He tried not to think of the backlog of work piled up at the factory waiting for him after his eight-day absence, the phone messages, sales calls, people wanting to consult with him. Not to mention the actual hands-on work of carving.
Michael remained stubbornly silent for a full minute, then he shrugged. "All right, what the hell. I'll tell you the truth. Why not? There's nothing you can do about it now you've married her."
He crossed the room and sat down behind his desk, and Jordan controlled the urge to haul his brother out of the chair and shake him until his teeth rattled.
"Start at the beginning," he instructed his brother, trying not to let any trace of his intense interest show. "Speak in short, clear sentences, and keep going to the end."
"I guess you know that Emily's adopted," Michael began.
"Yes. So you informed me several months ago." How in hell could that be relevant to a broken engagement, Jordan wondered.
Michael picked up a brass paperweight and slowly turned it in his hands. "Well, shortly after we got engaged, Emily and I were having dinner with Mom and Dad— maybe it was even the meal at the club when you were there. When I introduced the two of you for the first time."
"I remember the occasion." The meeting was etched in Jordan's mind with blinding clarity. He'd finally fallen head-over-heels in love at first sight—and the woman he'd fallen for had just promised to marry his brother. Yeah, he remembered the meeting all right. He'd gone straight from the dinner to the bar where he'd picked up Mary Christine Bernauer.
"If you remember the dinner, you may remember that Emily mentioned something about wanting to have at least two children, maybe even three."
"I do remember, actually. You said that was fine by you."
"Yes, I've always felt that a man isn't complete without children, you know. And, I'll be honest, I thought that if Emily got pregnant next spring, and we announced it just in the last month of the campaign…well, it couldn't hurt with the women voters, could it?"
"Probably not. Had you shared this particular campaign tactic with Emily?"
"Not really, not in any detail. She wanted to have kids, so did I. There was no point in discussing the specifics." Michael frowned. "I'm really going to have to think about finding some other woman to marry. Children always look good on a politician's resume. As long as there aren't too many, so that environmentalists start to wonder if you're overutilizing the planet's resources and—"
Jordan leaned across the desk. "Michael, get to the point of this story within the next thirty seconds, or I kill you. Your choice."
Michael recoiled. "Geez, what bug's biting you today? What the hell have you got going on in your life that you're always in such a damn hurry?"
"Michael…" Jordan murmured threateningly.
"Well, okay. You want the truth, here it is. You know that Mother was never as enthusiastic about the match with Emily as Dad. Dad won Mother over by pointing out that Sam Sutton was giving us way more favorable terms on the Laurel Acres deal because of the marriage. Mother recognized that we needed the money, but getting Emily as part of the deal was a hard pill for her to swallow."
"Could you explain why precisely?"
"Because Emily's adopted, of course." Michael appeared genuinely surprised that his brother had failed to grasp something so self-evident. "Anyway, Mother took me aside after that dinner and suggested that although I had to go through with the marriage for the sake of the election and the Laurel Acres deal, starting a family with Emily was a high-risk proposition, and I should avoid it. Since we didn't know anything about Emily's true genetic background at all, she recommended that I put off starting a family so that I could arrange a divorce as soon as the election was over. By that time, the Laurel Acres project would most likely be completed, so the marriage would have served both its purposes."
Jordan was beginning to feel very, very angry. "You and Mother have both been acquainted with the Suttons for several years, so you know that Emily had been raised by a wonderful couple, with a superb set of values. You know that Emily is smart, because she graduated summa cum laude from college with a degree in Fine Arts. You know that she's compassionate because she works her tail off for the Texas Fund for Children, and the Literacy Council, not to mention several other less fashionable charities. You also know that she's professionally competent, since she's been recognized as one of the best interior designers in San Antonio. In other words, you and Mother both knew that she was smart and charming and beautiful, and you still didn't think she was qualified to be the mother of your children?"
"My God, you're in love with her," Michael said, looking at his brother in amazement. "You've actually fallen in love with her. I can't believe it. Jordan Chambers, San Antonio's most notorious stud, has fallen for little Emily Sutton, the all-American prude."
Jordan walked around the desk and hauled Michael to his feet, ignoring his brother's attempts to break free. "My feelings for Emily, whatever they may be, have absolutely nothing to do with this conversation. You're supposed to be explaining why you broke off your engagement to Emily. What you've just said explains why Emily is incredibly lucky to have escaped marrying you. It doesn't explain why you dumped her less than forty-eight hours before the wedding. Tell me why you put the Laurel Acres project and your election at risk or, so help me, you're going to need your jaw rewired before you deliver your next campaign speech."
"Let go of my neck, for God's sake." Michael finally twisted out of Jordan's hold. "Okay, here's the bottom line. You asked for it, and I'm giving it to you, so don't blame me if you don't like what you hear."
"Just tell me why you dumped Emily."
"After mother's heart-to-heart, I got to thinking that marrying Emily might be a dangerous move on my part. I mean, who knew what kind of baggage she might be bringing with her? I'm not just talking genes here. What if the circumstances of her birth were really bad? I mean, running for public office you make a lot of enemies. What if one of them started digging around and came up with something about Emily that could hurt me?"
"So you started to investigate Emily's background," Jordan said.
"Yes." Michael nodded. "I turned an investigative team loose with instructions to find Emily's birth mother."
Jordan unclenched his teeth so that he could speak. "Which they did, presumably, or we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"Yes, they did. They reported back to me on Friday morning, and right away I knew that whatever problems it caused, I would have to cancel the wedding."
Jordan's stomach lurched so violently, he thought he might be sick. What had the researchers discovered? That Emily would never be able to have chil
dren? He could handle that. What if she was destined to die at forty from some terrible disease?
By an act of will, he concealed his panic and spoke coolly. "What did your team of researchers discover, Michael?"
His brother's voice hovered between horror and a sort of gloating pleasure that he could reveal something so terrible. "They discovered that Emily Sutton's birth mother was an illegal immigrant. A poverty-stricken, broken-down, two-bit whore. And God alone knows who her father is. Her mother sure couldn't have the faintest idea—"
As Jordan's hands rose, Michael broke off, jumping back so fast he knocked over his chair. "You can't fight with me for telling the truth!" he yelled, huddling in the corner by the desk where Jordan's fists couldn't reach him. "Face facts, Jordan. Your wife's mother earned her living selling her body on the streets of San Antonio! Obviously I couldn't marry Emily. Think of the scandal if some journalist got hold of the same story I did! It's okay for you to marry her, since you're just a carpenter, and you're never going to have any status in public life, anyway. But it's different for me. I have to carry on the Chambers tradition. For God's sake, can you imagine what Kincaid's people would have made of Emily's background if they'd ever found out the truth about her birth mother?"
"I can imagine exactly what Kincaid's people would have made of it," Jordan said coldly. "Nothing. Because that's what it's worth, Michael. Precisely nothing. Emily's mother may have been a prostitute, but she apparently cared enough about the baby she conceived to carry her to term and arrange for her to be adopted by wonderful parents. You're campaigning on a pro-life platform and I would say Emily is the poster child for your point of view on the abortion issue."
"Just because Emily has turned out okay so far, you have no idea when nature is going to kick in and she'll revert to type."
Jordan looked at his brother with a sense of genuine sadness. "How in hell did your values get to be so screwed up, Michael? Are you really so insecure that you need to bolster your self-esteem by having a wife with genes preapproved by our mother?"
"Oh, please," Michael said disdainfully. "Trust you to pretend a person's heritage doesn't matter. Just wait until Emily's pregnant with your child, and you're wondering how the hell the kid's going to turn out with half its genes an unknown quantity. Then maybe you'll wise up as to why I wouldn't marry her."
His Brother's Fiancée Page 16