The Boss and His Cowgirl (12 page)

Fifteen

C
lay exchanged looks with Boone while Hunt glanced out the window.

“Clay?” Georgie's voice sounded small and a little lost.

“C'mere, sweet pea.” He reached out and she moved into his arms. Glancing at her phone, he realized the call was still live. “Who're ya talking to?”

She gazed up at him, looking sleepy and confused. “Jen. She says people are in my apartment.”

Hunt snatched the phone and moved away, speaking softly to Georgie's best friend. Clay kissed her forehead. “I figured you didn't want to hassle with closing down your apartment, sweetheart. Hunt arranged to have some of his crew pack up your things. We'll put your furniture in storage. Most of your personal items will get shipped to your dad. The things you need every day will come here.”

Her body stiffened. “Here?”

The legs of a bar stool grated against the tile floor and Boone vacated the area, snagging his brother as he walked past.

“Yeah, baby. Here. With me. I wasn't kidding, Georgie. I'm here for the long haul. You'll stay with me when we're in DC. If I'm traveling and you don't feel up to it, you can stay with your dad in Oklahoma. I've decided to move campaign headquarters to Oklahoma City. I'll work from there while you have your treatments.”

“Clay—”

“Shhh, sweet pea. We'll deal with this together.”

“We will?”

“Yes.” He knew she loved him and warmth spread through his chest before a chill edged in. He wished he could return her love. “C'mere.” He guided her to a stool then poured coffee, nudging the mug, creamer and sugar bowl toward her, along with a spoon. He splashed more coffee in his cup while she doctored her coffee.

“What's wrong, Clay?”

He studied her face. She was awake now, and coherent. Her chin rose in a stubborn tilt. She'd survived the first blow. She'd survive what he said next. He nodded, a small acknowledgment of her strength. “Hunt will be talking to your doctor's office. Someone leaked.”

Color drained from her face and she swayed on the stool. He pressed the mug into her hands. “Drink, Georgie.”

“There's more.” It wasn't a question.

“Yeah. Drink your coffee.”

Her eyes snapped and flashed in the morning light. “I don't think I want to.”

He offered a wry smile. “I know you, darlin'. The caffeine will help.” He breathed easier. Georgie was back. She was still emotionally bruised and he was afraid that what he was about to share would eviscerate her, but it had to be done. Then they'd take steps to stop the bleeding.

She chugged the contents of the mug, set it down on the granite counter with a sharp
tink
of ceramic on stone. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded. “Okay. I'm ready. Show me.”

He opened the laptop and hit Play. Her hand groped for his, clung, squeezed. She took her glasses off and set them aside, still listening, head bowed. His gut roiled as anger surged. When the report ended, he closed the laptop. He didn't move, unsure of how to comfort Georgie, and that left him frustrated. His instincts urged him to take her into his arms, but something held him in place. After an agonizingly long time, which was only moments according to the clock, she raised her head and put her glasses back on so she could focus on his face.

“We need to draft a statement.”

“Boone will do that.”

“No. We need to do it. And call a press conference.” She slipped off the stool, headed to the coffeemaker and poured another cup. She returned to her seat, her expression resolute.

“You are
not
breaking up with me, Georgie.”

A soft smile teased the corner of her mouth. “No, I'm not breaking up with you.”

Clay leaned in and kissed her. Her knees spread to make room for him and her arms circled his chest. “Good.” He whispered the word against her lips.

Georgie's cell phone rang in the other room. Boone peeked around the corner. “Not sure you want to take this one, sugar. It's CNN.”

She sighed. “Let it go to voice mail. They all can.” She glanced back at Clay. “When's the announcement?”

“A week from today, in Oklahoma City at The Peake.”

Her lips pursed and Clay wanted to kiss them again. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Damn, but she turned him inside out like getting hit with a bucket of ice water followed by blazing sunshine.

Georgie pushed her glasses up. “Okay. I'll coordinate with Chase's people. We need to lock down the office here in DC. No information out, not even a
no comment
, unless it comes from you, Boone or me. Anonymous sources get cut off at the knees. For today Ev needs to put out a memo that we'll be holding a press conference Monday. There will be requests for appearances on the Tuesday morning shows. We'll see who calls after the presser. We want to answer their questions but control the supply of information.”

Boone let out a soft snort followed by a chuckle. “Dang, sugar, but you make me proud.”

“She's pure awesome once she gets wound up,” Hunt added.

Color returned to her cheeks and a real smile curved her lips. Warmth flooded Clay and he didn't resist the urge to kiss her this time. “Have I mentioned how much you mean to me?” He leaned back, caught the glitter of tears on her lashes. “Ah, baby.”

“I'm sorry,” she murmured.

Shocked, he stared at her. “For what?”

Her hand fluttered in an absentminded gesture. “For all of this.”

He gripped her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “I'm not. Not sorry for a bit of it.” That got a shocked look and a gulp. “Don't get me wrong, Georgie. What you're facing? It's killing me. I'd take it away in a heartbeat if I had the power. You'll get through this. I'll help. We'll all help.”

* * *

Midday on Monday Georgie and Clay stood near the brick pad of the “Swamp Site,” a spot located on the grass across the drive from the east Senate steps. A podium covered with microphones awaited them. Clay held her hand and she inhaled through her nose, exhaling through her mouth. He figured the technique was to keep her from hyperventilating. They'd worked on their statements. They were as ready as they'd ever be.

Clay gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it and stepping to the podium. “Thank you—” The high-pitched squeal of microphone feedback filled the air and people winced at the piercing noise. A sound tech ducked to the podium, fiddled with one of the microphones and slunk back into the pack of reporters and cameramen.

“Ground rules,” Clay stated without preamble. “We appreciate you coming, but here's the deal. We
will
answer questions but until both Ms. Dreyfus and I have made our statements, I don't want any interruptions. We clear on that?”

Murmurs ran through the group, but no one spoke out.

“Good. First, there's been a lot of speculation about my decisions concerning a presidential campaign. That speculation will be laid to rest this Friday, when I make an announcement in my hometown, Oklahoma City. You can check with my press office on the availability of credentials. The event will be held at Chesapeake Energy Arena. Since the OKC Thunder plays basketball there, I'm pretty sure there will be room for everyone.” This elicited chuckles from the pack of reporters.

“Second, I'm here to confirm that I do have a relationship with my communications director, Georgeanne Dreyfus. We've been seeing each other exclusively for several months and haven't attempted to hide this fact. However, considering my position, innuendos and speculations have been aired freely. Now you know the truth. Yes, our relationship is serious. And that relationship is no one's business but our own.”

He stretched his hand toward Georgie and she stepped closer to take it. Reeling her to his side with utmost care, he continued, “Friday morning we awoke to a report that my entire staff found offensive. That my colleagues found offensive. That my constituents found offensive.” He searched the throng, found a certain reporter and met her gaze with a hard glare. He didn't smile when the people nearest her moved away, leaving her isolated. He squeezed Georgie's hand and shifted to the side, opening the microphones to her.

“As most of you know, I'm Georgeanne Dreyfus and I've been Senator Barron's communications director for the last three years. Before that I worked as his state office manager before coming to DC as his assistant press secretary and then press secretary. Most of you know me. We've talked on the phone, exchanged emails, visited in the halls of the Russell Building, at the back of Senate committee rooms and in the halls of the Capitol.”

Her voice broke and Clay steeled himself to let her continue instead of taking over the microphone. All he could do was squeeze her hand to show his support. He'd wanted to be the only one speaking at this thing, but Georgie insisted she speak for herself. This was Georgie's story and she deserved to tell it.

“Thursday I received news from my doctor's office.” A murmur surged through the group, but no one spoke. “I'm thirty years old and I've been diagnosed with stage three breast cancer.”

Clay shifted closer to her, his arm pressed against hers as he held her hand a little tighter. She had to blink tears from her eyes and clear her throat before she could continue.

“I'm returning to my home in Oklahoma to begin treatment. This is a very difficult time for us, for Clay...for the senator and me. We would appreciate your understanding. I know he is a public figure. I know his life is a matter of a great deal of gossip and is probably infinitely entertaining. This is not funny, nor is it entertainment. This is real. It's life at its worst.” She swallowed and looked at him, her gaze warm and tearstained. “I tried to quit Thursday afternoon. Senator Barron refused my resignation. Many men would have let me walk out the door, happy they dodged the bullet. Clay informed me that wasn't going to happen. He promised to walk beside me each step of the way.”

She turned her head to look at the reporters. “That makes me the luckiest woman in the world.”

Clay dropped her hand and pulled her into his embrace, his arms going around her as her cheek nestled against his chest. Silence enveloped the area—everyone so quiet, traffic sounds were clearly audible. There was no whir and click of cameras, no shouted questions.

Finally, one woman near the back raised her hand. Clay nodded in her direction. She had to clear her voice several times before she could get her question out. “Alexi Madison, Fox News. Our prayers to you both,” she said. “Will you keep us informed of your progress? Not for the news cycle, but because we care.”

He nodded, but didn't speak. A man raised his hand and Clay acknowledged him.

“David Graves, CNN. I think I can speak for all of us when I say our thoughts are with you both and we're all hoping for a swift recovery.” The reporter, his expression soft, added in a gruff voice, “My wife is a survivor.” When Georgie offered him a small smile in response, he continued, “I think I ask this question for everyone, Senator, given the rumors of your interest in the presidency. Will this affect your decision?”

Georgie leaned into the microphone before Clay could react. “Dave, what part of stick around for the announcement next Friday did you not understand?” This got chuckles from the group. “The senator quite clearly stated that he'll let everyone know his plans then. And no fishing for gossip in the hallways. Only four people know what he'll say and none of us will talk.

“One last question,” Georgie stated as she pointed to a petite woman in the front of the group. Miriam Davis, long-time political reporter for the
Washington Post
, was known for her tough questions and bulldog devotion to digging out the truth. “Miriam?”

“Since we don't have a society reporter here, I'm just going to say this. If there's a wedding, I better have an invite.”

Sixteen

T
hey flew home Monday afternoon after the presser. Georgie's dad was at Wiley Post Airport to meet them, along with Clay's brothers, Cord and Chance, and their wives, Jolie and Cassie. After a steak dinner in the reserved back room of Cattlemen's Café, her dad kissed her cheek.

“The ranch is there when you need to come home, sweetie. You need to stay here for a while for the doctor, yeah?”

Teary-eyed, she nodded. “Can Clay and I come down this weekend? Maybe spend Saturday night?”

“Sure, baby. I'll lay in the supplies for a real ranch breakfast.”

“Has Mother—” She bit off the rest of her question.

“No, Georgie. I haven't heard from her. She's in St. Tropez or someplace with that gaggle of divorcees she hangs with.” His arm slipped around her shoulders as he walked her a short distance from the group. In a quiet voice, he added, “Are you sure?”

She knew exactly what he was asking. They'd shared many a conversation about Clay's romantic escapades. “I crushed on him when I was twenty, Dad. I started falling in love with him when I was twenty-five. I tripped head over heels in love with him not long after and I've stayed there ever since. Yeah, I'm sure.”

“Is he?”

Georgie stretched to tiptoe so she could peek over her father's shoulders. Clay's gaze remained glued to her, his eyes warm and concerned, though his face betrayed little of his thoughts. But she knew him, knew the nuance of almost every expression. She held Clay's gaze as she replied. “I tried to run away, Dad. After I found out. I didn't want to put him through this. He wouldn't let me. He's gentle but strong and very, very stubborn. And determined to fight this battle with me.”

Her lips curled into a smile she wasn't aware of until Clay returned it with one of his own. “I thought you were the only family I had, Dad.” Her eyes flicked to meet his. “I was wrong. Clay is my family, too. And Boone. Hunt. Ev. Even Clay's brothers and their wives. I'm gonna be okay, Daddy.
We're
gonna be okay.”

“Of course you are, Georgie. Come home Saturday. And bring your man with you.”

Still on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to her father's weathered cheek. The man had been a rancher his entire life—working with his hands in every kind of weather southwest Oklahoma could throw at him.

Her dad dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I figure you still know the way home, girl. Call before y'all leave the city.”

“I will, Daddy.”

Clay approached then, offering his hand to Georgie's father. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Mr. Dreyfus.”

“George, son. I figure we're gonna be stompin' around each other for a while.”

When Clay's smile lit up his eyes, Georgie felt light-headed. She still couldn't believe her luck and a voice in the back of her brain urged caution. She told it to shut up and transferred from her father's embrace into Clay's.

“See you Saturday, Dad.”

“We'll do burgers on the grill.”

Her dad gazed at Clay for a long, tense moment, then the lines around his eyes relaxed. “Take care of my little girl, Clayton.”

“Always.”

An hour later Clay and his brothers were ensconced in the media room of Clay's Heritage Hills house. Built during Oklahoma's first oil boom, the historic mansion seemed more like a museum than a home. The “boys,” as Cassie referred to them, had beers and the Cardinals baseball game blaring. Cassie and Jolie had Georgie settled around the breakfast nook table, with cups of hot tea.

Jolie studied her face and Georgie forced herself to meet the other woman's gaze. Cassie and Jolie were beautiful, unlike her. Clay needed a woman like them. She pushed her glasses up her nose, breaking the staring contest. She always blinked first.

“You'll be okay,” Jolie murmured, a hint of a smile transforming her expression from scrutiny to gentle concern.

“Yeah. I will.”

Cassie leaned in from the other side. “What's your schedule like?”

Caught off guard, Georgie blinked at her. “My schedule?”

“Yeah. Your schedule and Clay's.”

“Oh. We have to be up early to make the morning show rounds.” She blanched and Jolie squeezed her hand.

“Dealing with this publicly must be hard.”

“It is. But this is Clay's life. He's important.” She inhaled deeply. “He'll be a fantastic president.”

She didn't miss the looks the two women exchanged over her head. “What?”

“Honey, are you sure you're up to a campaign?” Cassie watched her closely.

“I don't know. It...depends.”

“You know you can talk to me,” Jolie interrupted. “It's been a while since I did an oncology rotation, but I can translate any medical jargon you don't understand. And Cass and I are both here for you. Miz Beth, too. You can stay with Cord and me—”

“Or Chance and me,” Cass cut in.

“Whenever you have doctor appointments or treatment. I...” Jolie looked around the kitchen. “I think it would be better if you stayed with one of us instead of here alone when Clay is on the stump. I mean...oh, hon.” Jolie blinked hard and swallowed. “Some of the treatments will wipe you out. You'll need someone with you.”

When she could speak around the lump in her throat, Georgie's voice came out a strangled whisper. “I know. I'll... I came home so I could be with Dad. I'll stay on the ranch down at Duncan when I can't be with Clay.”

“We'll drive you back and forth, then.” Cassie was adamant.

“I can't ask—”

Jolie squeezed her hand. “You aren't asking. We're volunteering. We watched the press conference this morning. Good gracious. The way Clay looks at you. I've never seen him look at
anyone
that way.”

“And that makes you family, Georgie.
Our
family. No way in hell you're going through this alone.
Comprende
?”

Not trusting her voice, Georgie nodded and then hugged both women. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Now, I'm thinking we girls need a spa day on Thursday to get ready for Friday's shindig. You off, Jolie?”

“Yes, ma'am. I'm off Thursday and Friday. No way am I going to miss seeing Deacon Tate on stage!”

Cassie pressed her hand to her chest and pretended to swoon. “I swear, if I'd met that man before Chance—”

“You'd do what, woman?”

Amid guilty giggles, the three women turned to face the men standing at the arched entry to the kitchen. “Chance, you know I have a major crush on your cousin.”

Jolie nodded vigorously. “I second that swoon and raise you a deep feminine sigh.”

The men rolled their eyes. The women laughed and pushed back from the table. Jolie and Cass hugged Georgie and winked. Cass wagged a finger at Clay. “Georgie is ours on Thursday. We're doin' the works. Mani-pedi, facials, massage and hair. Y'all work or go play golf or something.”

This pronouncement elicited snorts from the men as Chance wrangled Cassie, and Cord reeled Jolie to his side. Georgie followed Clay to see them off. They stood on the porch, hand in hand, waving as the other couples departed. Georgie leaned against Clay and gave him a squeeze with the arm she had looped around his waist.

“I like your family.”

“Good. Because they like you, too. At least this bunch of them.”

Georgie didn't want to think about the rest of Clay's family. She figured his father despised her and she worried about his two youngest brothers. She'd watched the family dynamics for ten years, had seen how Mr. Barron played his sons against each other. In fact, she couldn't believe Cyrus hadn't already intervened. She'd been amazed when first Chance and then Cord stood up to him, threatening mutiny in the face of their love for the women they married. She glanced up at Clay and he kissed her temple, almost as if he'd read her mind.

“We can deal with whatever gets thrown at us, Georgie. Even the old man. As long as we're together. Yeah?”

She answered without hesitation. “Yeah.”

* * *

Tuesday consisted of a flurry of appearances on the network morning shows, all done remotely from the various local affiliates in Oklahoma City. Hunt chauffeured them between each station, Clay holding her hand in the SUV, walking with her to the studio with his arm around her shoulders, then reclaiming her hand as they sat together for the on-camera interviews. The afternoon brought conference calls and Skype meetings with party officials in various states and a few of the campaign fund bundlers, and a follow-up with Chase's video people, all from the new campaign office opened on the ground floor of Barron Tower in downtown Oklahoma City. They worked late into the night, finally getting back to Clay's house around midnight.

They changed, climbed into bed and though Clay tried to hold her close, she rolled away, turning her back to him. Her brain was too busy, too filled with what-ifs she couldn't process.

Her first oncology appointment. Ten o'clock Wednesday morning couldn't come soon enough. Ten o'clock Wednesday morning could never come. Georgie lay stiff and staring at the shadowed wall of Clay's bedroom. He needed his sleep.

“Sweet pea?” He didn't sound sleepy at all.

She didn't reply. What was there to say? His finger traced down her spine, creating shivers in its wake. With a gentle grip on her shoulder, he rolled her to her back and propped up on one elbow, he gazed down at her. “Don't pull away, Georgie. Don't shut me out. Talk to me.”

She almost snorted at that. Her girlfriends complained incessantly about how men never
talked.
How did she end up with the only one who did?

“I'm scared.” The words, whispered as softly as a night breeze in a pine tree, hung in the air between them.

“Me, too.”

She blinked at that then her eyelids shuttered half-closed as he leaned down to brush her lips with his. “You are?”

“Hell yeah, Georgie.” He lay back down and snugged her against his side, so that her head was nestled against his shoulder. “I've finally realized how important you are to me, how much you mean to me.” He kissed the spot on her forehead where the hair of her slight widow's peak met her skin. “How much I care about you. I don't want you to be sick. I don't want you to hurt. I want to make all that go away. But I can't.”

His hand snagged hers where it lay on his abdomen, and he entwined their fingers. He brought their joined fists to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand before clutching it tight to his chest.

“It doesn't matter I'm a US senator. It doesn't matter how freaking much money I have. I can't make this go away with power or wealth. All I can do is hold you when you get scared. Sit beside you when you get sick.”

Georgie embraced his words, wrapping them around her like her favorite childhood blanket. He cared, but he didn't love her. It would be enough. It had to be. She tilted her face up to his. “Make love to me, Clay.”

He did. He touched her with hands so gentle they were almost reverent. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. He fed on her like a man starved, peppering kisses along her jaw, under her chin. He nibbled along her collarbone, one hand cupping her breast with fingers both caressing and teasing. His glorious mouth paused at her other breast to nuzzle and suck until her back arched off the bed.

Clay continued his explorations, with mouth and hands trailing down her ribs, across her tummy, dipping low to the juncture of her thighs where he worked his magic. She squirmed, but he held her still. She moaned and he pressed closer to her, his tongue swirling, his fingers teasing. She cried his name as her whole body shuddered and a climax tore through her as hot and bright as a 4th of July skyrocket.

A breath later he was inside her, buried deep. Her thighs cushioned his hips, her heels hooked across the backs of his legs. He filled her, completed her. He pumped slowly, a gliding slide in and out that set her nerves on fire. This was a slow burn, hot embers growing in her middle.

“Faster,” she breathed into his neck. “Harder.”

“No,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

He loved her slow and easy, and then changed the rhythm so that she, at last, got what she craved. When he finally came, she came with him, and he inhaled her moans through his mouth as he kissed her. Still entwined, they settled softly back on earth from the high of their climaxes. “Sleep, sweet pea. Tomorrow will be what it is.”