First Lady (43 page)

She tucked the baby in the crook of her arm and made her way to the front of the house. “Okay, buddy, it’s just you, me, and the dog.”

The bell rang. She counted to ten, then reached for the knob.

M
AT GAZED AT
the woman in the doorway and felt everything inside him melt. He’d been able to hold it together yesterday when there’d been cameras around, but now there were none, and she was only a step away.

Unfortunately, the woman standing before him wasn’t the Nealy he’d left in Iowa. This Nealy was elegant. Aristocratic. Pure WASP from the top of her patrician head to the toes of her Cole Haan loafers. She was wearing a strand of pearls that had probably come over on the Mayflower, a simple sweater that could only be cashmere, and perfectly tailored gray flannel slacks. Only the mangy dog who’d come out on the porch to jump on him and the cute brown-skinned baby nestled in her arms didn’t fit the image.

God, it was good to see her again. He itched to sweep her up and carry her to the bedroom where he could strip away all the signs of her wealth and position, but he figured that might not go over too well—either with her or with the Secret Service agent watching from the edge of the drive.

His heart swelled in his chest, but he couldn’t think of anything to say except
I love you
, which seemed a little premature, so he greeted the dog. “Hey, Squid.”

The baby blinked at Mat’s voice, then gave him a gummy smile.

The Queen of America stepped back from her door to let him in. His stomach sank. She was looking at him as if he were a distant memory of someone she’d once seen in steerage.

He followed her down a hallway that should have been in the Smithsonian and into a formal living room with lots of cherry, wing chairs, and old oil paintings. He’d grown up in a house full of mismatched furniture, Formica tabletops, and wooden crucifixes with dried-out palm fronds stuck behind them.

She gestured toward a spindly-legged love seat with a camel back. He carefully lowered his weight, half expecting the sucker to buckle underneath him.

She regarded him with all the confidence of a woman who finally knew exactly who she was. “I’d offer you something to drink, but we’re fresh out of root beer.”

Right now he’d settle for scotch, straight from the bottle. He noticed she was holding the baby so tight the kid was starting to squirm. “A new addition?”

“Andre belongs to Tamarah, the woman who watches Button.”

“I thought you were watching Button!” He winced at the accusing note in his voice.

She gave him a steely glare and didn’t bother to respond.

“Sorry.” His palms had started to sweat.

She chose a wing chair near a fireplace that the Founding Fathers had probably gathered around to discuss exactly how far they wanted to go with this Constitution thing.

The baby was still fidgeting. He waited for her to shift him to a more comfortable position, but she didn’t do it. She almost seemed to have forgotten she was holding him. He hoped that meant she was nervous.

She didn’t look nervous.

The love seat creaked ominously as he settled back into it and extended his legs. If he didn’t say something soon, he’d look like a complete fool. “How are they? The girls?”

“You know how they are. I’ve been sending regular reports.”

The baby wriggled. He wondered where she’d stashed Button. He’d give anything to see that little baby girl again—change one of those stinky diapers, have her drop some drool on him, receive one of her I-love-you-more-than-anybody smiles. “A report isn’t the same as seeing for myself. I’ve missed them.”

“I’m sure you have, but that doesn’t mean you can bounce in and out of their lives when you want. We have an agreement.”

This wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. The baby whimpered. “I understand that, but . . .” Although she was still thin, that gaunt look she’d had when they’d first met was gone. He was relieved . . . and disappointed. Some part of him wanted her wasting away for him.

As if Nealy Case would waste away over a man.

There was only one thing to do, and it flew in the face of every ounce of testosterone in his body. He drew a deep breath. “I’ve missed you, too.”

She didn’t look impressed.

He retrenched. “I’ve missed you and the girls.”

Another whimper came from the blue sleeper. The baby kept trying to get his arms free, but she had too tight a grip. Mat couldn’t stand it anymore, and he leaped up. “Give me the kid before you strangle him to death!”

“What—”

He whipped up the little guy and put him to his shoulder. The kid relaxed right away. He smelled good. Like a boy.

She narrowed her eyes, then tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “What happened with the results of the DNA tests? My attorney’s asked for a copy several times, but he still hasn’t received one.”

Oh, man . . . Busted.
He’d torn up the envelope he’d received from the lab in Davenport without ever opening it. “Me either. I guess the lab misplaced it.”

“Misplaced it?”

“It happens.”

She tilted her head, studied him closely. “I know how important this is to you. Maybe the tests should be done again.”

“Are you crazy? Do you want to put Button through something like that again? I guess it’s easy for you to say because you weren’t there. You didn’t see the way they held her down!”

She gazed at him as if he’d lost his mind, which was so close to the truth that he had to turn his back on her and head for the fireplace.

“What are you doing here, Mat?”

The baby’s head settled against his jaw. He glared at her. “Okay, here’s the way it is. I screwed up, all right? I admit it, so let’s put it behind both of us and move on.”

“Move on?” Cold as a flock of Presbyterians in an unheated church.

“Because, the thing is, it’s the future that counts.” Was it hot in here, or was it just him? “We need to look ahead and not behind us.”

Everything about the stare she leveled at him reeked of aristocratic disdain. He suddenly felt as if he were wearing a red satin bowling shirt and gulping down a kielbasa. It was time to cut to the chase.

“I need to know how you feel about me.”

“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

Mat nodded. The baby tucked his head against his neck, and he would have given anything right then to go play with him instead of facing how bleak his own future was going to be if the ice queen living inside Nealy’s body kicked him out.

“Well . . . I’m very appreciative that you didn’t betray me in the articles you wrote.”

“Appreciative?”

“And I’m grateful that you’re trusting me with the girls.”

“You’re grateful?” This was a nightmare. He sank back down on the ancestral couch.

“Immensely.”

The grandfather clock ticked away in the corner. She didn’t seem to mind the silence that was stretching longer and longer.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“No, I don’t believe so.”

That ticked him off. She damn well had to have felt something more than that or she’d never have let him near all those hot, moist places he’d made his own.

He set his jaw. Shifted the baby to his other shoulder. “Think harder.”

She arched an eyebrow. Touched the pearls with her fingertips. “Nothing else springs to mind.”

He leaped up from the chair. “Well, something else springs to my mind! I love you, damn it! And if you don’t like it, that’s too damn bad.”

The baby gave a mew of displeasure. Nealy’s eyes shot open. “You love me?”

He waited for her lips to bloom in a smile, her eyes to soften. Instead, she looked as if she’d been hit by the first round of musket fire at Lexington.

Lunkhead! He slipped the baby under his arm and moved forward. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I just— Is it hot in here? Maybe your furnace isn’t working right. I could look at it.”

What was wrong with him? He’d lived around women for years. He understood their habits. Why was he falling apart when he most needed to keep himself together?

A thousand emotions flickered across her face, but for the life of him he couldn’t identify any of them. She leaned back in the chair, crossed those slim legs, and made a little Protestant church steeple with her fingers. “When did you have this startling—and obviously unwelcome—revelation?”

“Sunday.”

Her nostrils flared. “This
past
Sunday?” Not a question but an accusation.

“Yes! And it wasn’t unwelcome.” The baby’s whimpers grew louder. He jiggled him.

“You only discovered this
two days ago
?”

“That doesn’t mean I haven’t felt it all along.” As a line of defense, it seemed weak even to him. His voice cracked. “I’ve loved you for a long time.”

“Ahh . . . I see.” She rose and walked over to him, not to fall into his lap as he hoped, but to take the baby back.

The pint-sized Benedict Arnold seemed more than happy to resettle on her shoulder. “You don’t look very happy about it,” she said. The baby wrapped a fist around the Mayflower pearls and shoved them in his mouth.

“I’m happy! I’m delirious!”

There went that eyebrow again.

Damn it! He made his living with words. Why had they deserted him now? It went against his grain, but he knew the time had come to throw himself on the mercy of the court. “Nealy, I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out, but that doesn’t make it any less true. What we have together is too good to throw away just because I screwed up.”

She didn’t seem impressed. “Your idea of showing your tender feelings is to go on CNN and talk about me to the world. Is that right?”

“I was bluffing. You wouldn’t take my phone calls, remember? I needed to get your attention.”

“My mistake. And what do you propose to do about these newfound feelings of yours?”

“I propose to marry you, what do you think?”

“Ah.”

The baby gummed happily away at her pearls. Mat would have liked to do a little gumming of his own—on her bottom lip, her earlobe . . . a breast. He nearly groaned. Now was definitely not the time to be thinking about breasts, or any other enticing body parts. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to marry me?”

She gave him a frigid look that told him he needed a really good argument. Something logical instead of emotional. “I know you probably think of it as marrying down, since I’m not an aristocrat like you. But it might be time to refresh the Litchfield family genetic pool. Add a little Eastern European peasant blood to the mixture.”

“Then make a run for the Triple Crown?”

He narrowed his eyes. Exactly what was going on here?

Nealy watched him tilt that big, handsome head and study her as if she were a specimen under a microscope. She hurt so badly she could barely maintain her composure. Had he really thought she’d believe this begrudging declaration of love and accept that pitiful excuse for a marriage proposal?

Now she recognized her mistake in trying to cut the girls out of his life. Even though he hadn’t been able to express it, she should have known how much he loved them. But she would never have suspected he’d go this far to have them back in his life. She would never have imagined he’d be desperate enough to suggest marriage.

It still didn’t seem to have occurred to him that he could simply take the girls away from her. He was their legal guardian, and the adoption wasn’t final. All he had to do was say that he’d changed his mind. But his sense of honor would never allow that.

Her knees turned to water. Would his sense of honor permit him to ask a woman he didn’t love to marry him just so he could get his children back?

Her head had begun to throb. What if it were true? What if he really did love her? Could this just be another example of Mat’s predictable clumsiness around the mysterious minefield of his own deeper emotions? Or were his feelings for the girls so strong that he was willing to marry someone he liked, but didn’t love, just so he could keep them in his life?

Only one thing was certain . . . despite the months she’d spent hugging his stupid T-shirt and whimpering over Whitney Houston, she was no longer the emotionally needy woman who’d wed Dennis Case. In the past year, she’d learned that she deserved better, and nothing was going to make her question another man’s love. If Mat Jorik burned for her, he’d have to find a better way than this to make her feel the flames.

“Nealy, I know I’ve done this badly, but . . .”

“Badly doesn’t begin to describe it.” She glanced at her watch, rose from the chair, and strode toward the hallway. “Sorry, but I’m out of time.”

Mat had no choice but to follow her. “How about if I ride along with you today? Some insider press coverage wouldn’t hurt.”

She didn’t need any more coverage, and they both knew it. She opened the door and stepped outside, making him follow. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Let me have your phone number. We need to talk again.”

“I’m sure if you try hard enough, you can find a way to get it.”

She slipped back inside before he could stop her and closed the door. Then she drew the baby closer and tried to decide whether she wanted to cry or scream.