Page 15 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

Oh. She hadn’t expected…her stomach clenched as they stood under the long roof of the patio, her gaze panning over the guests. Sure, she’d stepped into the limelight plenty of times onstage, but so often the crowd remained shrouded in darkness.

Not these people. Dressed to the nines, the finest of Nashville society had gathered to show her mother that they believed in her.

Believed in her earnestness, her ideals, her family.

A strange pride swelled inside Glo as she directed her attention to her mother, who gripped her husband’s hand in what looked like authentic unity.

And maybe so, because he hadn’t left out of irreconcilable differences.

He’d left for Glo. Because she’d needed a fresh start. A home outside the glare of the press.

As if she could feel Glo’s gaze on her, her mother turned and met her eyes. Smiled. Winked.

An unfamiliar warmth flooded through Glo. As if…as if maybe she was supposed to be here.

She’d finally done something right.

She lifted her hand and waved. Then Liam Anderson stepped forward and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, welcomed her and Michael, and the applause died to chatter.

“I’ve never been to a political shindig. They really go all out,” Cher said.

Yeah, well, spend money to get money, and Liam Anderson had dropped a bundle on tonight’s event.

White-skirted round tables with vases filled with white roses.

Gold-rimmed chargers and wine glasses, and white-gloved waiters carrying trays of champagne and fruited sangria.

Candles lined the pool, flickering romance and glamour into the evening.

Glo snagged a flute of champagne to carry and wandered toward the pool. Ornamented on four sides with mermaids, she had the crazy urge to climb on the slide and plunge down into the deep end. Cher had spotted her publisher and moved off to say hello.

“Up for a game of hide-and-seek?”

Glo turned, and Sloan stood behind her, grinning. He wore a white shirt, open at the neck—the rebel—a pair of dress pants, and a suitcoat.

“How about a dip in the pool instead?” Already the evening heat had trickled a line of sweat down her spine.

“Don’t tempt me.” Sloan leaned close. “But it would be terrible to ruin that dress.”

She hated that his words ran a sort of warmth through her. She was simply tired and sad, and his friendship hit all the right places.

He gestured to a nearby table, and they sat in the empty chairs. “You’re a good daughter to come off the road for your mother’s campaign.”

“Not that good. There were extenuating circumstances.”

“Like the bombing in San Antonio?” He had nabbed a gin and tonic from the bar and now sipped it. “Yeah, when I heard you were performing, that shook me up.”

Oh.

He shrugged. “So I’m still a fan. Can’t help it. But, are you okay?”

She nodded. “Thanks. We’ll be back on the road in a few months. We’re trying to write and get some in-studio time before then.” A wish more than a plan, but it had been forming since Cher threw out the idea of a solo act. She didn’t want to go it alone.

Hated the silence of her own thoughts, if she were honest. Because inevitably it was filled by the voices.

So, she needed to galvanize the Belles, start putting pen to paper.

Except right now her mother’s world felt pretty good, with the evening glow on her shoulders, a bubbly drink on her tongue, and way-too-handsome Sloan Anderson grinning at her.

Maybe she could fill Joy’s shoes.

“Listen. I’m starved, but dinner’s going to be late. And unless you like octopus and fresh anchovies, I know where we can get a decent snack. How do frozen Ho Hos sound?”

“Oh, you are diabolical. I can’t believe you remembered.”

His eyes twinkled when he smiled, and how had she not noticed that before? Maybe the glitter of the spotlights had blinded her.

She glanced at her mother, wound up in a conversation with some general dressed in his Army Service Uniform, and nodded.

Sloan took her hand and they threaded through the crowd, around the side of the house, and up the stairs to the balcony. He led her into a side entrance.

The air conditioning raised gooseflesh, and she dropped his hand, rubbing hers on her arms.

“Sorry. I keep it pretty cool in here.” He went over to a kitchen area.

A long granite bar top separated the kitchen area from the pool table and the lounge area.

A giant flat-screen covered one wall, flanked by built-in speakers.

He opened the freezer and pulled out a box of Ho Hos.

Set them on the counter. “Dad let me take this over when I moved home.”

She guessed one of the closed doors might be a bedroom. “Where did you move from? I thought you were living in DC.”

“I was. Worked for the NRA as a lobbyist, but…I got a better job.”

She slid onto a counter stool and reached for a Ho Ho. “As?”

“Assistant campaign manager.”

She stopped her movements, the unwrapped Ho Ho in her hand. “For…Senator Reba Jackson.”

He pointed at her.

“Seriously?”

“Your mother represents all I believe in. She’s a moderate, votes conservative on freedoms, progressive on social issues, and represents the ideals of the majority of Americans. Besides, I think it’s time for a woman president, don’t you?”

He seemed so sincere she just had to nod.

“And I’m not campaigning here, but your mother always…well, not having a mother, she was sort of a fill-in. She’d show up at your events, and somehow I’d end up hanging out with you guys. Going for ice cream after school award ceremonies. Your mother always took care of me.”

It was good to see her mother through Sloan’s eyes. Because even if it had been her sister her mother had shown up to watch, she had been in the audience.

Every time.

“I’m sure you know this, but she got into politics because of Joy.

She didn’t want Joy to miss out on any opportunities because of her physical challenges, so Mother ran for the school board.

Made sure they were up to code, opened the door for personal help for the physically challenged, and pretty much transformed not only our school but brought changes to schools across Nashville. ”

“It became her platform when she ran for mayor and won. I did my homework.” He winked at her. “Her law degree didn’t hold her back, either.”

He came around the counter. “Let’s go back outside. You’re freezing.”

She was cold and followed him out onto the balcony, now draped in the twilight hues of the setting sun. Behind them, the crowd had begun to take their seats at the tables, but Glo stayed at the railing, her gaze out on the rolling hills, the horses grazing in the pastures.

Maybe she could fit into this world, embrace her mother’s dreams. Be the daughter she needed.

Maybe she owed her mother that much.

Sloan pressed his hand to the small of her back. “I was hoping you’d come back, Glo. I…” He drew in a breath. “I missed you.”

She turned to him, very aware that her childhood friend had grown up, become the sort of man any woman would want.

Any woman but one still bleeding from the broken edges of her heart.

But maybe he was the distraction she needed. The perfect way to forget Tate.

What had Cher said—giddyup?

She smiled, mostly at Cher’s word, but he read it as something more maybe, because his hand came up to caress her cheek.

A feather touch, and she stilled.

No, she wasn’t ready. Not yet. So she leaned away.

A shout erupted behind her. Sloan looked up, his eyes widening a second before something—or someone—hit her from behind. Slammed her into Sloan, and they all went down in a tumble.

A shot cracked, and it hit the house, chipping off mortar and brick.

Glo lay atop Sloan, who’d broken her fall in his embrace, but over the top of both of them, one of the security personnel covered their bodies.

Where had he come from?

“Stay down!” he hissed.

She felt his body over her, solid, warm, protective.

She froze. No?—

But she couldn’t look as more shots barked.

Then feet hammered the veranda, shouts and return gunfire.

The man protecting her was breathing hard, a tiny groan to his voice, and she deduced he might be in pain.

Shot?

Please—no?—

“Let’s get them inside!”

She recognized Sly’s terse voice, and the man protecting them rolled away.

Sly grabbed her arm, helped her to her feet, and wasted no time hustling her back inside, Sloan on her tail.

Sly led her behind the bar and instructed them both to get down, but she wasn’t moving until?—

Yes. Oh no, she knew it. But what on earth?—?

Tate came into the room, a gun drawn, his face whitened with pain.

He turned his back to the wall, leaned his head back, and met her eyes.

And incredibly, offered her a rogue, one-sided smile. “Hey, babe. Miss me?”

Glo had nearly gotten shot on Tate’s watch.

No, while he’d been watching Slick Sloan hit on her, reeling her in for a kiss.

Tate might be ill, right here in the corner of Liam Anderson’s dark-paneled office. If not from the memory of Glo looking up at Sloan like…

Like she’d looked at Tate two short weeks ago. Might have been a decade for the way she acted. Apparently, it took exactly two weeks for her to forget he existed.

And while he’d been standing there, corralling the Neanderthal desire to throw Sloan off the balcony—definitely not a part of his job description—a sniper had adjusted his gun just enough for the setting sun to glint off the barrel.

A smart sniper would have wrapped his weapon, to protect it from betraying tells.

Tate’s instincts had simply kicked in and he’d leapt at Glo, taking Sloan down too.

A sort of collateral save, really, but it made him look good.

Even if his shoulder felt like he’d torn something and threatened to send him to his knees.

The pain radiated down his arm and across his back.

He’d barely held in a shriek of pain as he landed on it, sweat beading on his forehead as he held Glo and Sloan down long enough for his crew to arrive for backup.