know.”
“You’re going to be inundated by the media.”
“I know.”
They slipped into silence again.
“I couldn’t believe that Sam showed up,” Lilith commented. “He hasn’t changed, has he? Drop in unannounced then leave before you know it. Still playing by his own rules. Still keeping his distance.”
“What’s wrong with having your own rules?”
“Are you defending him?”
Was she? “I liked him. I did go to the prom with him, you know.”
“Right. One date. A sympathy date at that.”
“Don’t say that.” When he left without saying goodbye, he’d hurt her in a way like no one had. Still, she had a tender spot for him in her heart. Maybe because she vividly remembered the sad little boy who’d lost his mother when he was ten. Maybe, too, she remembered strong feelings on her part that were never resolved. Her friends hadn’t seen that his eyes could sparkle with humor as well as challenge. She’d been a little bit in love with him for years, then the night of the prom had fallen even more—until everything changed, for a reason she never knew.
He was an enigma then, and more so now. Why had he come when he seemed to have no intention of staying beyond a brief conversation with her? And why in such a public forum?
“All I’m saying is that he could’ve had friends, but he didn’t try,” Lilith said a little defensively.
“Maybe so. We don’t know what he went through with his father, do we? All I know for sure is he did well in school and got out of town when he could. He seems to have made something of himself. He looked fabulous, don’t you think?” Dana almost sighed.
The swing bounced crookedly as Lilith sat up. “You’re kidding.”
“You didn’t think he was incredibly sexy?”
“No.” Horror crept into her voice. “Absolutely not. If I saw him coming toward me on the street, I’d find a way to avoid him.”
Dana laughed. “I’d want to be walking beside him. I’d feel safe.”
“You’re attracted to him!”
“What if I am?” Dana took few people into her confidence—a life in politics didn’t invite much trust. She rarely talked about Randall, about their personal life, not even to her oldest friend, so why discuss Sam?
“Is he single?” Lilith asked.
“He wasn’t wearing a ring.”
Lilith’s expression turned sympathetic. “I know you must be lonely, Dana, but there are plenty of other men who would be good choices. A man who doesn’t fit into your world could cause a lot of talk. The wrong kind of talk could ruin your chances for reelection. You know that.”
“I do know.”
“So, you’re not going to see him?”
“No.”
“What are you going to do about Harley?”
The quick change of subject confused Dana. “What about Harley?”
“He was humiliated tonight. More than once. You don’t think he inherited his daddy’s skill for vengeance along with the ranch?”
“He’s not dealing with an ignorant seventeen-year-old this time.”
Lilith laid her hand on Dana’s. “No, he’s dealing with a powerhouse. And that makes you more vulnerable than ever. Truth or lies, it doesn’t matter.”
Dana pulled her hand free and shoved both fists into her robe pockets, the backs of her fingers brushing Sam’s card. “I’ll be careful. I’m always careful.”
Lilith seemed about to say something but stood instead, her hand resting on her belly. “Baby’s finally gone to sleep. That’s my cue.”
Five minutes later Dana went to her bedroom. The familiarity of the space that hadn’t changed in all these years held a kind of comfort she hadn’t felt for a long time. She stood at the open window, her long-buried needs doing battle with her longer-held sense of responsibility—to everyone but herself. She’d felt…female tonight. Sexy. And Sam had barely touched her.
Sam. He’d intruded in her thoughts for years and years. A question without answer. A temptation without satisfaction. Not even a kiss at the end of the prom. She’d wanted to kiss him tonight. Dancing with him, being held by him, had made her want more. A lot more.
Dana leaned her cheek against the window frame and stared at the stars. She was achingly lonely, but she wasn’t in a position to do anything about it, not at this point. Nor could she tell Lilith the truth about her bid for reelection. Dana had made up her mind, but she couldn’t make that decision public for another two months. There was too much riding on it. A promise was a promise.
As she lowered the sash to close off the night air, Dana heard a car engine start. Headlights came on from about fifty feet up the road. A black sedan headed slowly down the hill and passed in front of her parents’ house. She relaxed. Harley would drive a truck. So would his friends.
It was probably a couple of teenagers necking—she looked at the clock and saw it was 1:00 a.m.—and breaking the midnight curfew, a long tradition in Miner’s Camp.
Ah, adolescence. Years ago she’d been an hour late. Her parents caught her tiptoeing into the house, and she was punished by having certain privileges taken away, like no solo dating for a month. At the time it seemed too harsh for a first offense.
In reality it had been good preparation for her public life now, where first offenses mattered enormously. She’d been careful not to make any—until now. She should’ve corrected Candi’s statement that she was running for reelection right when it happened, no excuses, before it became the problem she expected it would become.
Because now when she made a mistake, she wasn’t accountable to two loving parents but to millions of people—friend and foe. The repercussions had probably already begun.
Three
Tuesday evening Dana rested her elbows on her desk, propped her chin on her fists and studied her calendar for the rest of the month. Congress was in recess, but she was busier than ever. August was supposed to be a time to reconnect with constituents. So far, all she’d done was reconnect with the media.
She leaned back in her leather chair and closed her eyes, the hectic pace of the past few days not only catching up but hitting hard. She’d skipped the Sunday reunion picnic to head back to her San Francisco office to deal with the anticipated backlash of Candi’s unfortunate misstatement, and had been home only long enough to sleep and shower since then.
In need of damage control, she’d sent for her communications director and press secretary from her Washington, D.C., office. Her chief of staff and director of state operations had apartments in San Francisco and met her at the office. More than a dozen staffers had given up their
