Stay (Dunham series #2) (39 page)

Vanessa had a classification of her own and it was
entirely foreign to Eric. Had neither Sebastian nor Piper ever
taken her anywhere? Taken her out, showered her with fun and
conversation and laughter? And if not, why not? Had that been at
her insistence or theirs?

Considering Vanessa’s eagerness to get down to
business the minute he’d shown up at Whittaker House, he now began
to wonder if either of them had even bothered to seduce her at
all—or had just railroaded her into bed. Sebastian was sixteen
years Vanessa’s senior, his sexual history splashed on canvases
around the world, and she’d been twenty. Piper was ten years her
senior and would have been used to groupies and immediate
satisfaction. Eric could see how she could have been completely
overwhelmed by both men, with no chance to think, much less say
no.

Eric had tried that tactic a few times himself, but
it had never turned out well.

He looked to his right and saw this woman, sleeping.
Snoring. Just a little. His mouth quirked.

There was no trace of the little girl whose hope had
shone bright in her face, the one he’d walked away from.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eric had thought,
perhaps, his obsession with Vanessa would wane if he spent enough
time with her. That, perhaps, it really was gratitude driving this
train and that it would fizzle out before it crashed, and if not
that, then he’d end up tripping over that damned painting, the
Esquire
and
Maxim
covers. Whittaker House.

Her fame, her beauty on display, her
accomplishments, all of which might have intimidated him, except .
. .

Your job . . . it’s so much more important than mine
. . . I’m a . . . luxury. You’re a necessity.

. . . this successful woman valued him, his
accomplishments and goals, believed in his potential.

She shifted toward him. Snorted.

Eric hadn’t planned to come to Mansfield this
weekend at all. Being alone all week with his thoughts, very little
email or phone contact between them—and none initiated by
Vanessa—had fostered doubts and insecurities in him he hadn’t had
since he’d run up against uncompromisingly chaste Heather his first
week at BYU.

A couple of times, he had allowed himself to
fantasize about living his life with Vanessa. It was so easy to see
her at his side, the nice, pretty lady he’d met at Chouteau
Elementary that night. Vanessa would lend him credibility because
of what she had built, because of her unflagging graciousness and
charm, because of her exquisite sophistication. There would be no
stern looks from the governor as to the behavior of Eric’s dinner
companion, that was for sure.

Still, there was
Wild, Wild West
. The
magazine covers. Eric could think of a few ways those could be
spun—all bad, which boiled down to the fact that it wasn’t
appropriate for someone with conservative values to pose semi-nude,
though neither he nor Vanessa could be defined as true
conservatives. For those who understood the difference between a
libertarian and a conservative, it would make no difference and, in
fact, might enhance his standing. The religious right would have a
“moral” problem with Vanessa, but without a right-wing candidate
who could win, they would take what they could get.

And, as Glenn had pointed out, if it came out that
Vanessa had been the one to provide the proof of Eric’s innocence,
well . . .

His opponents and enemies would have a field day
with that.

Eric sighed.

It didn’t matter. No matter how much he wanted to,
he knew he couldn’t ask it of her. She would never leave Whittaker
House for him, for his career, had said as much.

Annie had what he needed in a wife, but he couldn’t
go back to that type of relationship. Not now. Now Eric was
spoiled. Greedy.

He wanted it all: a political powerhouse of a wife
he could love, quiet companionship, hot sex.

With Vanessa, he could have had that.

But by Thursday afternoon, elbow-deep in cops,
evidence, and witnesses—with Vanessa reluctant to speak or write,
and Eric knowing she’d been right all along about the reasons not
to get involved—he’d decided just to break it off, leave it alone,
and get on with his life.

You should, um, just stay there until it’s over
with. You know, no distractions.

Exactly. He could not afford to spend time building
a relationship right now. Even if she came to see him, even if she
were willing to communicate long distance, she would distract him.
He’d spend every second thinking of her and make stupid mistakes:
the little ones, the ones that would stack up until they were
insurmountable, which he wouldn’t realize until he tripped over his
stupidity in front of a judge and jury, on a capital case that was
as important to his career as it was to the county and the
principles of justice.

But . . .

r u coming fri?

One line of text on his phone sent from a Mansfield
number, but not from one that belonged to Vanessa.

Vachel.

That could mean only one thing. If Eric knew nothing
else about that kid, it was that if he wanted Eric to ignore him,
he would to go to ground. If he wanted attention, he’d go to great
lengths to get it, but he had never requested anything of Eric
straight out. He had to want Eric to come for the weekend to be so
direct.

yes dont tell v—dont hunt or fish.

u work dinner fri & close.

run wh sat-sun.

going away 4 wkend.

Eric didn’t know where the hell that had come from,
but it had flowed from his thumbs so easily.

He found himself on the road Friday at five o’clock
sharp, letting his staff deal with some of the minutiae of the case
that was starting to draw media attention. He had to win that
woman’s conviction. If he didn’t win it, the county would want him
to deal with her some other way—the way Knox had taken care of
Parley.

But Knox had been young and inexperienced when he’d
lost the trial that set a serial killer free, and he’d reacted in
naïve outrage. Eric was a seasoned trial attorney with a bright
future. He couldn’t afford to do it even if he wanted to; he not
only needed to get a guilty verdict, but to win a sentence on death
row for the county.

It was a painstaking process.

Eric really shouldn’t have gone anywhere, but he
needed the break and Vanessa needed to be taken care of.

Clear as day.

Vanessa could take care of everyone—

She could rescue Knox whenever he’d found himself
strapped for cash, then let him go on his merry way without a word
to let him know she still needed his help. She could take on a
troubled teenage boy as his legal guardian, make sure he got
everything he wanted and needed to become a productive member of
society. She could take care of the old man at the back of her
property without his knowledge, because he’d resent it otherwise.
She could hide a country star so well that for three years the
world was convinced he’d died. She could supply employment for half
a Mormon ward, and room and board for the area’s missionaries. She
could provide business opportunities for the area’s craftsmen and
get their products showcased nationwide.

—except herself.

They rolled into Branson and Vanessa stirred. Awoke.
Looked around to see where they were. Without a word, she pointed
the way to Silver Dollar City. Yawned. Stretched.

He parked and tugged her out of the car, then twined
his fingers with hers. She smiled shyly and looked away.

“Nice nap?”

She blushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Not a problem. You needed it.”

“I’m sore,” she said. “In my butt. I think you
rubbed too hard.”

“Yeah, and you need more of that. Go to your spa
next week.”

Vanessa sighed.

“Have you ever been on a date?” he asked abruptly,
snapping her attention back to him.

“Well, yeah,” she said after a few seconds. “Guys
asked me out, if that’s what you mean.”

“What’d you do on your dates?”

She shrugged. Pursed her lips, as if she had to
think about it. “Dinner. Movie. The usual.”

“Did you have any boyfriends?”

She huffed. “Why are you still harping on that?”

“No, I don’t mean them. I mean
boyfriends
.
Dating. Going out, having a relationship.”

Her mouth tightened, but then she sighed and her
body released its sudden tension. “Well, no. I haven’t. Nobody
asked me out after two or three dates, when they figured out I
wasn’t going to sleep with them for a while. If ever. And no, I
haven’t been on any dates like what you talked about.
Bowling
. Miniature golf. Good Lord. I guess I never really
thought about it.”

“Knox told me you weren’t the most accessible woman
in the world.”

She shrugged. “I got spoiled early, but— Honestly?
Most men bore me. And I just saw too many smart women get stupid
over a man and I am not stupid. Or at least, not that stupid.”

“Do you think this is stupid?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

His mouth twitched, satisfaction washing through him
in a wave. “So . . . I’m your first.”

Vanessa laughed. “Yes, I guess you could say that.”
She turned and walked backward in front of him, keeping firm hold
of his hand, looking into his eyes. “You know, I
really
don’t like how you swooped into my business and took over, but you
work hard and help me out. You got so much done for me I could kind
of take a breather for a while. What you got done— It’s why I can’t
be mad about today. I’ve never had that. I appreciate it and I . .
. enjoy being with you. That week— I know I was acting weird. But I
liked knowing you were near, even if I didn’t have a chance to talk
to you or see you. Liked knowing I’d get in bed and there you’d be,
even though we didn’t do anything. I trusted you with my baby and I
started to depend on you. It was very . . . odd . . . for me. It
still is. Mostly because I know I can’t allow myself to get used to
it.”

Eric studied her. She returned his gaze second for
second until she stopped walking and allowed him to press into her
with his next step. He bent to taste that sweet mouth of hers,
knowing he was falling in love with her—
wanting
to—yet still
without a clue how to arrange his life, his goals, to include her.
He could see her with him, that gracious innkeeper sitting next to
him at a state dinner giving him strength and credibility even as
he took care to give her the fun and laughter she’d never had, to
work out the knots in her back, to seduce her slowly over days and
weeks and months and years.

Their kiss deepened and he released her hands to cup
her face between his. She sighed through the tangling of their
tongues, making him ache for her, all of her, not just between the
sheets, but by his side.

At midnight.

Holding hands.

On a stage with an American flag behind them, red,
white, and blue balloons falling around them, confetti flying,
staring into the faces of thousands of people packed into a
convention center chanting “U-S-A,” enormous vertical banners with
his name and the states’ names bobbing above the crowd, the arena
speakers blasting adrenaline-pumping rock which kept the floor
thundering from feet stomping in time.

Marry me, Vanessa.

Come with me, Vanessa.

Nine years ago in Utah, he’d packed a U-Haul and
driven twelve hundred miles straight home, parked it in the
Chouteau County courthouse parking lot, and gone into the office
he’d last seen as a seventeen-year-old loser nobody, fresh out of
jail.

Newly minted diploma in hand, he’d walked through
the bullpen, into Knox’s office, and dropped it on the desk in
front of him.

Hilliard, I want your job.

Why?

I got a plan.

Which is?

Attorney general. Governor. President of the United
States. As of your fortieth birthday, you hand off your job to me.
If not before. In the meantime, you make me your executive.

Why have you not informed me of this before now?

You were too busy grilling me about my grades. I
could never get a word in edgewise.

Mmmm. Okay, well go find a place to live and take a
shower because you stink. Then I expect to see your ass planted
somewhere in this office tomorrow morning at eight, in court at
nine for arraignment. File cabinet’s over there. Find those fucking
employment papers and do whatever you’re supposed to do with
them.

The kiss softened and he opened his eyes to watch
her. Her eyes still closed, she whimpered into his mouth, which
meant only one thing—and for that, they could have just stayed in
bed.

He knew how she tasted, how she felt, how well he
fit inside her. How she made love and fucked and had sex—and she
was very good at it. He had only worn a condom with her once, and
the lack thereafter didn’t bother him.

He knew how she worked, how she made money without
the benefit of location-location-location, how she drew people to
an inn with no technology available as part of the package and, in
fact, advertised her lack of technology as an attraction. How she
tended guests and treated those she considered her family, how she
loved them: Quiet. Solid. Constant. In deed, without pretty
words.

He knew how she coddled the volunteers who worked at
Rocky Ridge Farm’s museum and gift shop, with her offerings of
cookies and gossip. He knew the grove where she went to meditate,
to find some measure of peace in her chaotic world, how she
cherished those moments in the woods behind Rocky Ridge Farm where
she sat and spoke with Mrs. Wilder as if she were right there—in
the grove where they’d worshipped together early one Sunday morning
in May as the sun rose, and she’d cried his name to the gods.

Eric needed to know how Vanessa laughed, how she
played. He needed to draw out her entire range of emotion,
something other than the carefully controlled innkeeper’s face she
presented to the world, something other than the heartbreak he had
seen all too often directed his way.