LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER THREE

      “SARAH, I DON’T UNDERSTAND.” Republican presidential hopeful Buckmaster Hamilton paced the floor, his phone to his ear, his impatience wearing a path in the carpet. “I love you. I thought you were moving into the main house on the ranch. No more hiding, no more lying about how we feel about each other.”

      “Buck, can’t we talk about this when you get home?”

      “No, four months ago you went to your house to pack and the next thing I know you tell me you can’t move in until after the primaries. Well, the primaries are over. I need you. I can’t keep—” He heard the door open behind him. “I have to go.” He disconnected and turned to face his campaign manager, who’d come in with a stack of papers, no doubt the latest polls.

      “Sarah? Is that who you were talking to?” Jerrod Williston asked in an impatient tone. “Buck—”

      “Don’t start,” he said, holding up both hands. “I’m trying to put my family back together. I know I’ve been a little distracted.”

      “You’ve been more than a little distracted. On top of that, all the media wants to know now is how your love life is going instead of talking about your platform. You’re the Republican presidential candidate. If you hope to stand a chance in hell of winning this election, you have to start acting like a president instead of a lovesick fool.”

      “Tell me how you really feel.” He waved a hand through the air, afraid Jerrod would only go off again. More and more he was having his doubts about this run for president. Was this his dream anymore? Or was he trying to do this for his father, JD Hamilton? JD had withdrawn from the race because of a woman. Wasn’t Jerrod’s fear that Buck would do the same thing?

      He’d had so much trouble with his family since he’d thrown his hat into the ring last year. But last year there had been no chance of having Sarah. He was still married to Angelina. He had been ready to throw away everything he’d worked for and divorce Angelina before she’d been killed in a car wreck.

      Buckmaster felt a wave of guilt. Angelina’s death had worked in his favor, but he hated like hell how it happened. Now the only thing keeping him and Sarah apart was this damned election. That was why Sarah was dragging her feet, wasn’t it? Unlike Angelina, she’d never wanted to live in the White House.

      So he couldn’t help questioning if bowing out now wasn’t the best thing for them. He needed Sarah. Maybe if he quit he could pull his family back together again. Then his daughters might come around and get closer to their mother.

      Sarah was disappointed that the girls never called her. Harper was making an effort, but Cassidy had barely said two words to any of them. Buck had no idea what was going on with his youngest. He hadn’t heard from her either.

      “You’re tired. This campaign has been taxing. You’ve had a lot on your mind,” Jerrod said. “You just need some rest and then we’ll—”

      “I need my wife, I need my family.”

      Jerrod let out an impatient breath as if he’d heard this too many times. “Sarah isn’t your wife. A wedding right now is the last thing you need. Win this election, then you can throw yourself a wedding on the White House lawn with all your daughters as attendants.”

      Buck raked a hand through his hair. He’d noticed this morning in the mirror that he was getting grayer. It was no wonder given what he’d gone through in the past year. If it hadn’t been his first wife, Sarah, it had been his second wife, Angelina, or one of his six daughters. He was trying to keep his family together and run for president. He’d always felt that he owed it to his party, to his country. But right now he felt as if he had nothing left to give.

      Jerrod came over to the desk in the room and put down the stack of papers he’d been holding. “You’re doing well in the polls. You have this. Try to have a little patience. Even the voting public is on your side. So don’t do anything to screw it up. Sarah isn’t going anywhere.”

      He wasn’t so sure about that, recalling how Sarah had been ready to marry Russell Murdock not that long ago. Murdock had almost run her over when she’d come stumbling out of the woods last year. Until that moment, she’d had no memory of the hours before—or the past twenty-two years. She knew only that she had jumped from a plane and parachuted into those Montanan woods. After landing in a tree, she’d managed to climb down and walk some distance to the dirt road where Murdock had almost hit her. He’d been her protector and probably still was. Buck didn’t blame Sarah for agreeing to marry the man. Russell was apparently nice enough and at the time, Buck had been married to Angelina.

      With Angelina dead for almost a year now, there was no reason he and Sarah couldn’t be together. Even the media had taken it easy on him when he’d admitted to a woman on the plane—who’d turned out to be a reporter—that he was still in love with his first wife. He’d thought her dead for twenty-two years, so no one could blame him for remarrying. Angelina had supported his political ambition. She’d been determined to put him in the White House. But she hadn’t lived to see that happen.

      Now there was nothing standing in the way of him and Sarah being together. Nothing but this damned election.

      * * *

      CASSIDY AND JACK found a small market only a half block from the bar and bought what they needed. They’d grabbed a cab outside the store. Fifteen blocks away, the driver let them out at a run-down hotel.

      Jack had looked over at her, his expression pained. “We can look for some other place if this is—”

      “It’s perfect,” she said, gazing out at the large brick building. Maybe it was the drinks she’d had, but she felt as if she was a character in a thriller movie. “No one will be looking for me here,” she said, thinking how true that was. The memory of the large man who’d grabbed her on the street seemed surreal now. It had happened so fast that it felt more like a nightmare she’d now awakened from. Had it really happened or had she dreamed it?

      Wired on adrenaline and alcohol, she had leaped at the idea of a disguise. For so long she’d wanted to be

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