The Boss and His Cowgirl (11 page)

“I see.” His voice sounded as if it had been flash frozen.

“Boone wouldn't let me.”

“Ah.”

“I...” She turned away from him and dropped into the nearest chair, bending to cover her face with her hands. “You know I had a checkup a few weeks ago, Clay.”

“And?”

How could one word sound so brittle? “And there was a lump.” She looked up at his quick intake of breath, but he wore an expression she couldn't decipher. Her gaze dropped again. “The results from the biopsy weren't...good.” More silence. She continued staring at the floor.

“Prognosis?”

“Stage three. I'm being referred to an oncologist for a lumpectomy and chemo, maybe radiation. I...want to go home, Clay. To Dad's ranch.”

“Okay. Give me a few days to clear my schedule. We'll go home. Get the best oncologist in the state.”

Georgie didn't want to do this, but she had no choice. She couldn't allow Clay to go with her. She was too aware of what he'd gone through with his mother. That part of his life had been glossed over in his official biography—how she'd died of breast cancer when he was a boy—but Georgie
knew
him, had overheard his interactions with his brothers and his cousins. He'd been profoundly affected by his mother's illness and death. She would not put him through it again.

“You have to stay here.”

A guffaw erupted from him. She had no other way to describe the sound that blasted from his mouth. The problem was his eyes held no humor. “No.”

“Clay, don't make this harder—” She pushed out of the chair.

“What part of
no
do you not understand, Georgie? You aren't leaving me.”

She flattened her mouth into what she hoped was a grim line, fisted her hands on her hips and attempted to mimic her mother's best society maven voice. “Now you listen to me, Clayton Barron. You're an important man.” Her right hand lifted without her conscious instruction, and her index finger pointed at him, wagging in time with each word she said. “Running for President of the United States. You don't have time to be hanging around watching me lose my hair.”

Inhaling so she'd have enough breath to launch into her next argument, she never got the chance. Clay stepped into her space, cupped her cheeks in his palms and leaned down until his eyes were on the same level as hers. “Now you listen to me, Georgeanne Ruth Dreyfus.”

Wait? He knew her middle name? His warm breath washed over her skin and she focused on his mouth. Full lips. Square chin. Strong jaw shadowed with a day's growth of whiskers. Which only made him look far sexier than he had a right to, given the circumstances. She wet her lips, felt her nostrils flare as his cologne wafted between them—almond, cedar, bergamot and a hint of lemon. His hands dropped to her shoulders before caressing her arms as he tugged her against him. Her head fitted against his shoulder and she relaxed against his muscular chest.

“I'm not going anywhere, Georgie. I'm staying right here next to you.”

“But—” Whatever argument she intended to make fled from her brain as he captured her mouth in a soft kiss. By the time he was finished, she was breathless.

“No buts, sweet pea. I'm not going anywhere. Neither of us is.”

She pushed against his chest to get a little traction and pointed her finger again. Before she could poke him with it, he captured its tip in his mouth, kissing away her defenses and defeating her offense in the process.

“Clay—”

“Georgie.”

He mumbled around her finger, but his eyes twinkled and a smile curled the corners of his mouth. Dang but she loved his mouth. When he kissed her, she forgot everything. All her good intentions, all her talking points, all sense of propriety. She pulled her finger from between his lips and curled it into her palm in self-defense. With his next words, the fight left her.

“I won't let you go through this alone so you might as well stop pushing me away.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I'm bigger, far more stubborn, and you mean too much to me.”

Georgie gave up, raising her chin to glare at him. “Fine. Just...fine.” Then her breath caught as the import of his words struck her. She meant something to him?

“Wait. What?”

“You heard me. I'm here to stay.”

Fourteen

C
lay smoothed out the crumpled paper even though the words were branded into his memory. He knew why Georgie panicked. He knew why she wanted to run that afternoon, thinking she was doing it for him. Still, it pissed him right the hell off that she thought she needed to protect him, or that he would just walk away from her.

Not gonna happen.
He wasn't his father.

A soft knock on the back door of his townhouse interrupted his reverie. He pushed off the bar stool and unlocked the door. Hunt and Boone walked in, the expressions on their faces grim.

“How's she doin'?” Boone sounded gruff, but concern radiated from him.

“She's asleep.”

Hunt nodded. “Good. I have a team packing up her apartment. We'll put the furniture in storage, ship the nonessentials to her dad. Clothes and personal stuff will be delivered here.”

“Clay, have you discussed this with her?” Boone's voice held a note of caution.

“No. I want her here with me. End of discussion.” Damn straight he wanted her here, now that he was beginning to consider his feelings for Georgie. He couldn't think about the future. He could only think about now. Maybe tomorrow at the most. Stage three. Not stage four. Not a death sentence, but three was bad enough. He shook thoughts of his mother away. If they didn't have a lifetime, then he'd squeeze every second he could into what time they had, but he couldn't think about that future. He didn't explain. His cousins remembered, too. “What about Oklahoma City, Boone?”

“We did some scrambling, but we have the Chesapeake Energy Arena locked in. Chase's media team says no problem on the change. They're familiar with the venue for concerts and that's basically what your announcement is. Deke says he'll be there with the band. They're working on a new song for your campaign. Video people will splice it in as soon as Deke sends the audio file. The advance team will have the place filled. With Deke and the Sons of Nashville leading the way, that'll be easy.” Boone's gaze flicked to the wrinkled paper on the breakfast bar, but Clay cut him off before he could comment.

“She stays with me, Boone. And I stay with her. I don't care what that damn letter says. I refuse to let her face this alone.” He didn't miss the look the brothers exchanged.

“Georgie is a woman who knows her own mind, Clay.”

“I'm well aware of that, Hunt.”

“And you know she's like the little sister none of us had. We're all a little protective of her.”

Clay glared at both men. “And I'm not?”

“Dang, ol' son,” Boone murmured. “This is real.”

He didn't reply. He had nothing to say.

* * *

The three of them plotted long into the night before the cousins crashed in his guest rooms. Clay slipped into his bedroom. He stood next to the bed, watching Georgie sleep, and doing his best to breathe around the knot in his chest. He was not his father. He would fight for the life of the woman he cared about. He did care, knowing that's all he was capable of. At the moment, loving her—loving anyone—seemed beyond him.

Her handwritten words had shredded his gut. She believed she wasn't good enough for him. Truth was, she was too good for him. Could he make a commitment to her? Would she refuse, thinking he asked only out of a sense of obligation and pity?

Georgie stirred, her hand reaching out to the spot where he normally slept. She might try to push him away when she was awake, but sleeping? She wanted him. He stripped quickly and slipped into bed beside her, gathering her close. She breathed a little sigh and settled against him, her head nestled on his shoulder. This is where she belonged.

He was a realist. He'd watched this damn disease ravage his mother. He'd watched her hair fall out, seen her lose weight until her skin hung off her bones, her lethargy. He'd listened to his father's cruel remarks. He was not that boy anymore. He was a man—a man who would take care of his woman. No matter what.

She'd crept into his life. He'd barely noticed her that day when she appeared in the storefront campaign headquarters during his first House run. Boone knew who she was, recognized her potential. She'd been a sweet college kid with stars in her eyes. She'd worked grueling hours with no compensation. Her smile had turned shy whenever Clay spoke to her. But he'd started to notice her. She was good at what she did. And got better with experience. She worked as his state office liaison in Oklahoma City. When Boone suggested recruiting her for the DC office, he agreed immediately.

And then she was just...there. Her smile still shy when turned his way, she always managed to fit in. She
had
become the little sister the Tate boys never had. Except he'd never looked at her like that. He wasn't sure when he first noticed she was definitely
not
a little sister, but a woman with curves and green eyes that twinkled with mischief and humor. Over the years she worked in his office, he'd come to admire her talents—as a speechwriter and in the deft way she handled the media. He also realized she hid behind her black glasses, boxy suits and messy buns.

He appreciated her talents, and as he'd reminded Boone that long-ago morning in Scottsdale, he didn't paddle in his own work pool. Until Georgie had taken the brunt of the attack by those protesters. Until she'd curled into his arms as he carried her up to his suite. Until she'd laughed and cried in the dark, sharing her fears with him.

Yeah, Georgie was his now and he would not let her go.

She moved beside him, murmuring his name.

“Shhh, darlin'. Go back to sleep.”

“S'everything okay?”

“I have you in my arms, sweet pea. We're good.”

He felt her smile against his chest as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Sleep, Georgie. We'll deal with tomorrow when it comes. Sweet dreams.”

“Love you,” she mumbled, unaware of what she said.

He lay awake, thinking about her words, before finally falling asleep just as the sun rose.

* * *

Boone and Hunt were sitting at the breakfast bar drinking coffee, a laptop open between them, when Clay shuffled in. He'd left Georgie sleeping, her lashes not hiding the deep shadows under her eyes. How had he not noticed how worn out and worried she'd been? Yes, she'd hidden her concern from him, but he should have realized something was more wrong than she let on. He wouldn't make that mistake again. He poured a cup of coffee and settled on a stool across the bar from his cousins.

Boone opened the conversation, but he didn't quite meet Clay's gaze. “The office knows we won't be in today.”

“What now?”

Boone swiveled the computer, but before he could hit the play button, Clay's cell phone rang, the words
Chase calling
flashing on the screen.

“You're up early,” he stated with no preamble as he stabbed the speaker icon.

“Haven't been to bed yet.” His younger brother was constantly in the tabloids. Head of Barron Entertainment, he flitted from Las Vegas to LA to Nashville. “But I'm not calling about me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I'm calling to say thanks. For once you're the headline in the grocery checkout instead of me.”

Cold anger washed through him. “What are you talking about, Chase?”

“You haven't even announced yet and the media is all over you like cheese and jalapeños on nachos. But seriously, Clay, why did you break up with Giselle? She was perfect for you. I know you like strays, but Georgeanne? Though I guess it makes sense, since she works for you. You and Boone need to come up with a strategy.”

Before he could respond, Boone snatched the phone. “Chase, you need to shut up.”

“Boone?”

“I'm tellin' ya, cuz, shut it. Now.”

Silence filled the kitchen. They heard Chase take a deep breath. “Damn. Are they really a thing?”

Boone stared at Clay. An angry tic beneath one eye and the grim line of his lips conveyed his feelings so perfectly that Boone added, “You idiot. You're damn lucky you aren't standing here where Clay can put hands on you.”

“The old man is gonna blow a gasket.”

“He already has.”

“No, Boone. He hasn't called for an intervention. He might be pissed, but his brain hasn't exploded.” A ping sounded from Chase's end and then silence. Another quick breath and then a string of cuss words dribbled from Clay's phone. “Not yet, but any minute now. Have y'all seen the latest news report?”

“Hunt and I have, but Clay hasn't.”

Clay stared at Boone, his gaze shifting to Hunt before dropping to the laptop. “What?”

Boone hit Play and a video featuring a perky blonde reporter flickered on the screen, the words
Political Ploy or Play for Pity?
on a screen behind her.

“Oklahoma Senator Clayton Barron has long been Capitol Hill's most eligible bachelor. In recent months he's taken himself off the dating carousel, and his communications director, Georgeanne Dreyfus, is his constant companion. The senator broke off his long-term affair with Broadway star and fellow Oklahoman, Giselle Richards. Within days Senator Barron was seen about town with the bespectacled Dreyfus on his arm. One wonders why a man of the senator's...stature—” the female reporter stopped to waggle her brows and smirk into the camera “—would lower his standards to date his mousy employee. While known for her political savvy and ability to divert the media, Dreyfus is not the senator's typical type. We've learned from an unnamed source that Dreyfus is moving into the senator's Georgetown house. Rumors have also surfaced of numerous visits to Washington ob-gyn Dr. Mike Lane, which makes one speculate as to the reason. Another unnamed source suggests it isn't a pregnancy scare, but a medical diagnosis. Senator Barron and his party have been accused of being soft on women's issues. Is this a ploy on the part of a smart politician about to announce his campaign for the presidency? Or is a desperate woman hoping the handsome senator will take pity on her as she attempts to hitch her star to his?”

The reporter turned wide eyes to the camera, but Clay didn't listen to the rest of her drivel. He slammed the laptop shut and launched his coffee cup simultaneously. The ceramic mug hit the expensive glass-tile backsplash above the double stainless-steel sink and shattered.

Chase, voice soft and chastised, reclaimed Clay's attention. “Talk to me, Clay.”

“She has breast cancer, Chase. Stage three. We're coming home next week for my announcement. I'll run my campaign from there while she undergoes treatment.”

More cuss words streamed from the phone before Chase inhaled. “I'm sorry, Clay. Truly. I wouldn't wish this on anyone but especially not someone close to you.”

“I care about her, Chase.”

“Call Cord and Chance. They need to know. All of it. And I'm sorry for being a smart-ass.”

Clay caught the relieved glance his cousins exchanged. His phone buzzed, indicating another incoming call. “Thanks, Chase. Will do.” He swiped his finger to end the call and checked to see who else was on the line. Cord.

“Hey, little bro.”

“Jeez, Clay, are you okay?”

“No.”

“How's Georgie?”

“Scared.”

“What's going on?”

Clay inhaled and then said the hateful words. “She has breast cancer.”

“Ah, hell, ol' son. What's the plan?”

And this was when Clay truly appreciated his brothers. At least the next two in line. The twins sometimes swam in the jerk pool but Cord and Chance always had his back. “We're coming home next week.”

“The announcement still on for Friday?”

“Yes. Boone wrangled the Peake. Deke is on board.”

“We'll be there to show the colors, bud. Listen, Chance is here with me. Cassie and Jolie, too. We want to know what you need, what we can do to help.”

Clay's throat clogged and his eyes burned. “You just did it, Cord. All of you.”

Cord and Jolie, the mother of Cord's child, had recently married. She was an ER nurse and spoke up. “If Georgie has any questions, Clay, or needs anything at all, tell her to call me. I'll be there with her each step of the way. Tell her that, 'kay?”

“Thanks, hon. I will.”

“Clay?”

He swiveled on the stool to find a disheveled Georgie standing in the doorway. Her hair was mussed, one strap of her tank hovered on the point of her shoulder ready to fall off and her cotton sleep pants rode low on her curvy hips. She blinked at Hunt and Boone, her expression confused. Her cell phone rested in the palm she stretched toward him. “Why are there movers at my apartment?”