Private Indiscretions (16 page)

But you did involve me.
Dana was so confused. “Were you really sick?”

“Yes! Worried sick. That was no game. Dana, I kept asking you if something was going on. You were acting so strangely, but you kept denying there was anything happening, so I finally decided it was just me projecting onto you or this fling with Sam, or whatever that relationship is. Then Sam came to my house today and asked if Harley was blackmailing me. I couldn't figure out how he knew until he said that you were being blackmailed. He thought it was Harley, but I knew it had to be Jonathan. I'm not apologizing for him, Dana, but I understand the way his mind works. He would do anything to protect me. Anything. Haven't you ever been desperate?”

“Yes. Ever since I got the first letter.” She ignored Lilith's flinch. “I thought someone had some horrible secret that would tarnish Randall's name forever. But whatever that secret was, I wouldn't have covered it up if it meant hurting someone innocent.”

“I didn't know,” Lilith insisted. “I didn't put it together until Sam planted the idea in my head. I immediately accused Jonathan. He didn't deny it. He said he figured it was worth a shot. He didn't have anything on Randall, you know. Did anyone? But he thought it might provoke you into announcing your decision, one way or the other, so that we would know where we stood. That's all he wanted, for you to make your decision public.”

“So, because he didn't have any intention of following through on the threat he sent to me, that makes it okay?”

“No. Of course not. I'm not trying to justify what he did, only telling you why he did it.”

Where was Sam with that chair?

“Did you ever consider coming to me, Lilith? Telling me what was going on? Did you think I wouldn't have helped?”

She looked at Dana as if she'd lost her mind. “After what you did before—taking the blame for me? Being
taken to the police station? Standing before the chief? Lying to your parents? Going to the rehab classes? I was already in your debt. How could I ask anything of you?”

“Because we were friends.” As far as Dana was concerned, that said it all.

“Were?” Lilith repeated, panic in her eyes.

“I understand you didn't know what Jonathan was doing until today. But there
was
today, Lilith. You could have told me today.”

“I thought it was over, that Jonathan had given up.” Fresh tears glistened. “I decided that confessing to you would cause more harm than good, that once the deadline came and went you would chalk it up to someone's awful idea of a joke and forget about it. Yes, it was the coward's way out, but you've never cared for Jonathan….” Her voice trailed off, as if she saw the absurdity of what she was saying.

When she spoke again, her voice was calm. “I had no idea he was going to plant that note tonight. He must have hoped it would be your final straw, that you would announce your decision out of fear tonight.” Lilith squeezed Dana's arms. “If he'd asked me I would've told him you were too strong to give in to threats.”

Dana pulled back. “Just as Sam didn't talk to me about his suspicions about you. I would've convinced him he was wrong, too.”

Lilith ventured a smile. “How is it that two such independent women are attracted to such protective men? We don't need taking care of, do we?”

Dana found no returning smile to give her. “You're the psychologist. You tell me.”

“I'm afraid of the answer.” She took a step away. Her hands settled protectively over her belly. “I'm going to tell my radio audience about my past. I hope they understand why I've never said anything before. But if they don't, I'll live with it. My life will still be full.”

“Telling may damage your credibility,” Dana said. “But
it also may make you more human. You'll be talking from experience.”

“Leave it to you to see the bright side.”

Yeah. Leave it to me. Little Mary Sunshine.

The door opened. Jonathan was escorted in by Nate and Arianna. Sam followed with two chairs.

Jonathan didn't even glance in Dana's direction. He went straight to Lilith. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” She leaned away from him.

“You're not fine.”

“I am.”

Dana clamped her mouth shut, but her mind screamed, “What about me? Does anyone care about me?” She read the plea in Lilith's eyes. “Go home,” she said, wanting her gone, knowing there was nothing left to say.

Sam roared to life. “Like hell.”

She turned to him, her voice calm. “The decision is mine.”

His eyes went cold. “Yes, ma'am.”

Dana understood his anger. He'd fought a battle and won. Now the guilty were being set free without a trial, even though all the evidence was there and fairly gathered.

“I think we're not needed here any longer,” Arianna said to Nate as soon as Lilith and Jonathan left. “Senator, I hope to see you in the near future.”

“Likewise,” Nate added.

“Thank you,” she said. It was all she could manage.

After the door shut, Dana and Sam faced each other.

She hadn't seen this side of Sam before, the controlled but escalating fury. It turned his eyes to steel and his jaw to granite. Had he grown a few inches? He looked huge. Imposing. Powerful.

“Dana.”

She expected anger. Accusation. Frustration. But he said her name with such tenderness. She couldn't make it fit with how he looked. Confused, she shut her eyes. She felt him move closer. He said her name again. She opened her
eyes and he was there, right in front of her, her knight in shining armor yet again, offering her sympathy. Understanding. Caring. The world moved in slow motion as it caved in around her, dragging her into a deep, dark pit. “Oh, God, Sam. She was my best friend. My best friend. How could she do that?”

He wrapped her in his arms, stopping her from falling into the pit. She fought tears, not wanting to seem weak. He liked her strength. Admired it and her—

“Cry,” he said into her hair. “Just cry.”

After a minute she realized she wasn't crying only because of Lilith but because of Sam, too. There was no reason for him to stay—and every reason for him to go, before her public presence complicated his life beyond repair.

“Let's go,” he said at last.

She should have felt better now that the threat was resolved, but a different kind of fear settled in and refused to budge.

S
am felt Dana's gaze on him as he drove her home. They'd barely spoken since leaving the hotel. He didn't know what to say. The job was over. Time to deal with the real issues.

“One of the things I admire about you,” she said into the quiet, “is your tenacity. I knew you would find the needle in the haystack. I knew you would find who was behind the letters, even with so little to go on.”

“I wasn't so sure.” He glanced at her. “You were magnificent during the banquet.”

“I was petrified.”

“Courage isn't about not being afraid. It's about how you handle your fear.” He slowed for a stop sign. “Why aren't you running for reelection?”

“You know, I was thirty years old when I took office,” she said, weariness in her voice. “The minimum age for a senator. I hadn't held public office before. My only qualification was that I'd been married to a man who'd served almost twenty years in Congress.”

“You have advanced degrees in political science. You worked in his office for years, wrote his speeches, were part of his policy-making strategies. And you've done a good job on your own.”

“But it's
all
I've done. I've lived it. Breathed it. I run seven offices and employ seventy people. I have to study harder, know more, and at the same time not rile anyone, plus defer to those who've been there longer, who've proven themselves, even when I think they're wrong.”

“You would prove yourself, in time.” He had no doubt about that.

“But most senators build up to their position. I didn't. There was resentment about that, but because Randall was so popular and I was a young, grieving widow, no one hassled me. Not publicly. This time around, the gloves would be off.”

“You can handle that.”

“I don't want to handle that.”

“Ah.”

“I thought I knew what the business of politics was about. The compromises you have to make. The games you have to play. Some people learn how to work the system and still accomplish their goals
and
keep some of their ideals intact. I'm not ready to compromise, I guess. I'm not ready to let go of some of the principles I cherish.”

“What will you do?”

“What I always wanted to do. What I studied so hard for. I'm going to teach. At the university level.” She leaned toward him. “And I haven't told another soul about this, but I plan to run for the Senate again in another twenty or twenty-five years.”

The idea pleased him. “You'd make the record books.”

“I wouldn't mind that. I'd like to leave a legacy for future generations.”

She'd left the words hanging out there for him to react to or ignore. He chose to ignore them. A minute later they
were pulling in to her driveway. He didn't turn off the engine.

“You're not coming inside?” she asked quietly.

“I can't.” He willed her to understand.

“I know,” she said, then her expression turned more intense. “Why not?”

Because she would push him for answers he couldn't give her—answers she wouldn't want to hear. He didn't believe what she felt for him was real, but he knew she couldn't see that yet. Soon, though. And he didn't want to be around to hear her try to say she'd made a mistake.

“Why did you let Lilith and her husband go?” he asked instead.

She frowned at the change of subject. “What good would come from pursuing some kind of punishment? Are you mad at me because I didn't punish them? Is that what this is about? Because if anyone has a right to be angry, it's me. I had a right to know about Lilith. You should've told me you suspected her.”

“When? Before the banquet, when I wasn't sure? I didn't make the connection of the typefaces until we were there. It would've ruined your evening whether I'd been right or wrong. I wanted to be wrong. I'd hoped Harley would burst into the room so that I could have the pleasure of hauling him off.”

“I wanted the same thing.”

She put a hand on his arm. He didn't want it there, a reminder of what he was giving up, because he knew her.
He knew her.
Knew that just as in high school, she had a new life ahead of her, one he couldn't be responsible for slowing down. It wouldn't take long for her to realize her feelings for him were nostalgic and ephemeral, tied up in the moment of confusion and mystery that they'd just experienced.

“There's something I've wanted to know for a long time,” she said.

“What?”

“Why were you able to rescue me from Harley before? Why were you there?”

He ran his hand along the dashboard, brushing away nonexistent dust. “Right place, right time. I was on my way to your house. To say goodbye.” Needing to avoid her father, he'd been waiting down the road when he'd seen Harley's truck pull off into a well-forested area. He thought he saw Dana in the passenger seat but wasn't sure, so he followed.

“Goodbye?
Before
graduation?”

“Classes were done. I'd officially graduated. I wasn't hanging around an extra day to sit through the ceremony.”

“Then I went to the police,” she said. “And Harley and his buddies came after you.”

He shrugged. He didn't want to rehash it anymore.

“Why did you come to the ceremony, then? Everyone could see you'd been beaten.”

“To show Harley he hadn't won. Then—”

She waited. “Then what?”

“You wouldn't even look at me.” That was the worst. She hadn't once looked his way. Hurt and angry, he'd left her the medal so that she wouldn't forget him. Because of that medal they'd come full circle. He had to say goodbye again. Leave her again.

“I told you, Sam. I was protecting you. I figured I had time to make it up to you. I didn't. You left town without telling anyone you were leaving. Then when you showed up at the reunion, I thought I had a second chance to set things right, but I hadn't expected to fall in love with you.”

Don't tell me that.
“You reacted to the situation,” Sam said, keeping his voice level when he wanted to shout. Nobody falls in love that fast. Nobody. He knew what drove her to think she had. But in time she would forget him, just like before. He had to find a way to end it right now, even if the truth hurt.

“You became dependent,” he said, sure of his words.
“Then you transferred that dependency into something else. Infatuation, or whatever you want to call it.”

“I'm not a teenager. If I say I love you, I do. Did last night mean nothing to you?”

“Last night was great. I already told you thank-you.” Just get out of the car and walk away, he told her silently.

“You shared your secrets with me. Your pain,” she said quietly, her voice strained. “You gave without asking anything in return. You made me stop looking back and inspired me to look to the future.” Dana leaned close to him. “I know it seems fast, but it doesn't make it any less real.”

“You'll see.”

“At least come in for a nightcap,” she said. “It's hard talking in the car.”

“I can't. I'm going home.”

“Home? To L.A.?”

He nodded.

“Now? Tonight? But you have your car. You would have to drive.” Dana heard her voice go shrill and tried to tone it down. “It's already past eleven. By the time you check out of the hotel—”

“I already checked out. My luggage is in the trunk.”

The proverbial ton of bricks fell on her. He'd known he was leaving. He'd planned it.

“I never figured you for a coward, Sam.”

“I guess it's a good thing you found out now.” His voice was firm and factual.

Dana wasn't buying any of it. No one shares the kind of week they did only to make an about-face from concerned, gentle protector to casual, sarcastic acquaintance.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“You said last night that you'd be happy with that.”

“I thought you'd give us a chance once the threat was gone and we were living normal lives again. You're not going to give us a chance?”

“I'm telling you, Dana, that you've created some sort of fantasy. We had some unfinished business, that's all.”

“That's not all, and you know it.”

“You're grateful.”

Her jaw dropped. “Whoa. This is a side of you I haven't seen. When did you become Mr. Chauvinist? I thought you respected me.”

“Exactly my point. You don't know me. How can you love me? What you're feeling is temporary.”

“What if it isn't?”

He didn't hesitate. “I don't feel the same way you do.”

He couldn't be any more clear than that, but oh how it hurt. Tears burned her eyes. She refused to cry in front of him.

She opened her door. “Have a good life.”

If he said something she didn't hear it. The front door seemed a mile away. She focused on it like a life raft after a shipwreck. She didn't hear his engine start, so he must be watching her until she was safely inside, ever the protector.

Had she confused love with a strange kind of dependency? With lust? With infatuation?

She picked up her pace, needing to be away from his all-seeing gaze. The life raft still bobbed too far out of reach.

Had she wanted the fairy-tale ending so badly that she saw only his heroic qualities? She'd had a comfortable relationship with Randall. She wouldn't have a comfortable relationship with Sam.

But she'd thought she could have life instead. Passion. A partner in the best sense of the word. Someone willing to argue…and make up. Have babies with.

Love her.

She reached the door, shoved the heavy wooden portal open and almost fell inside. She pushed the door shut and leaned against it, covering her face with her hands.

Love her.

Sam would challenge her. Believe in her. She could tell him her fears. She wouldn't have to be right all the time. In fact, he would take great delight in telling her when she
was wrong. And he could bask in her own love, unwavering and infinite.

Why didn't he want that?

“Ma'am?”

Dana pushed away from the door, swiped at her tears. “Hilda. What are you doing up?”

The older woman came a little closer, her white robe glowing in the dim light of the foyer. “That Mr. Caldwell came here tonight after you left for the banquet and wanted something from your sitting room to take to Mr. Remington. I tried to call you at the hotel but I couldn't get through to you. Was it okay?”

Dana sighed. “Yes, it was fine.”

“I didn't like doing it without your permission.”

“It's all right, Hilda. Is that all?” She wanted to be alone. She was never alone.

“Mr. Remington isn't with you?”

“No. Why?” Her patience was as brittle as spun sugar.

“I just wondered how many for breakfast.”

“Just me. Just me forever,” she snapped, then regretted her tone instantly. “Look, I'm really tired. I'm going to bed.” She walked past Hilda, reached the bottom step of the staircase.

“I was hoping he might be around awhile, ma'am.”

It took Dana a few seconds to absorb Hilda's words, so rare was it that she offered a personal opinion. Dana stopped on the fourth step and turned around. “Why?”

Hilda hesitated. “I just— This doesn't seem to be a good time for a talk.”

“Lay it on me.” How much worse could her night get?

“I was hoping, ma'am, that he'd be the one.”

“Why?”

“Because he made you happy. And because I'm ready to retire. I didn't want to leave until you were settled.”

Dana plopped onto the stairs. She stared at Hilda in amazement. “I didn't think you even liked me.”

Hilda's eyes softened. A small smile touched her lips, surprising Dana.

“The reason I'm still here is because I like you. I've been waiting for you to find someone and get married again. I didn't want to leave you alone. But I want to spend the rest of my years near my family. My grandchildren. I'll stay until you find someone, of course, ma'am.”

“Of course,” Dana repeated, watching Hilda disappear down the hallway. She pressed her face against her legs to muffle the hysterical laughter that threatened.

After a minute she continued up the stairs, making a mental to-do list: 1. Hire new housekeeper (probably going to need three people to replace Hilda). 2. Get over Sam.

She stopped in her bedroom door and studied the room, then revised her list: 1. Sell house and find much smaller place. 2. Get over Sam.