Page 9 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

“ N ever in a thousand years would I guess you’d join your mother’s campaign.”

Glo made a face at Cher as her red-headed former roommate set a wide-mouthed mug in front of Glo, a heart-shaped leaf drawn into the foam of her vanilla latte.

She slid onto the wooden bench across the table from Glo, armed with an Americano and a gleam in her eye. “So, how did the Senator rope you in?”

Glo picked up the coffee. “I’m not really sure. It happened so fast…” She blew on the rising steam. “One minute I had a thriving career, the next I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

“Still haven’t moved back into your old room, huh?

” Cher wore her long red hair gathered back, low and to the side.

Only Glo’s long-legged friend could rock the over-the-knee boots, the short black dress, and oversized gauzy shirt.

She looked professional, put together, and fit, and Glo felt a little underdressed in her boyfriend jeans, striped T-shirt, and leather jacket.

Glo set her cup down. “Do you know that my mother still hasn’t cleaned out Joy’s things from our room? And she won’t let me touch them. It’s been ten years, and she still has it dusted and vacuumed every week.”

“Grief does that—holds us hostage. It took my father three years to clean out my mother’s closet.” Cher broke off a piece of her late afternoon treat—a morning glory muffin.

“What, are you charging by the hour now?”

Cher laughed. “No. You’re the one with the psychology degree. I just know that grief makes us do crazy things. Like hike across America or climb mountains?—”

“Or push incredibly hot, brave, and amazing men out of our lives?”

“That too,” Cher said, taking another bite of her muffin. “Listen, I’m not judging, just jealous. I haven’t had a date in months.”

Which was crazy. Cher was not only beautiful, but smart too. Glo always knew her small-town friend from East Tennessee was destined for greatness, starting when she’d helmed the Vanderbilt Hustler as editor in chief. Now she worked as a fiction acquisitions editor for a national publisher.

Maybe Glo should have gotten a “real” job, like her mother had suggested, with her psychology degree. Gone on to be a counselor, like she’d planned. But she had more than enough problems than to spend hours listening to others.

Although, maybe listening to others would help her figure out how to unsnarl the mess inside.

“Maybe you should try online dating?”

“Oh no. Most of those guys are looking for a booty call. I have a strict IRL policy for dating.”

“IRL?”

“In Real Life.”

Glo laughed, and it eased the fist that seemed to grip her heart since she’d flown home in the Jackson private jet nearly three weeks ago. Since she’d moved her meager belongings into the grand guest room suite of the Jackson estate.

Since she realized one bright morning that she’d been sucked, ever so surreptitiously, back into her mother’s world.

Listening to briefings at the dining room table over poached eggs and wheat toast. Sure, she’d done a few interviews online and over the phone for CMG, thanks to Carter’s press release of their award nomination.

But it felt like her world had become a rerun of…

will her mother win? All hands on deck to get the job done.

Never mind her own life.

“I caught your interview on The Highway , by the way. And that video of you singing ‘One True Heart’ is trending on YouTube.” Cher thumbed open her phone, and the YouTube app popped up as she handed it to Glo. “Is that Tate in the background?”

Glo nodded without looking at it.

“Yeah, I can see why you’re moping.”

“We really didn’t have anything…I mean…he was my bodyguard, nothing more.”

“ Right ,” Cher said, turning off the screen. She leaned forward. “Catch me up. I want more than the high points. All the delicious details, please.”

Oh, Cher was good medicine. Glo had missed her when she hit the road with the Belles. “Where to start? You heard about the bombing in San Antonio, right?”

“After one of your Nbr-X shows?”

“Yeah. We were auditioning for the permanent gig, and the bomb went off in the backstage area. It trapped Kelsey, a little girl, and Knox Marshall?—”

“Tate’s brother?”

“Yeah. He runs the family ranch in Montana. Tate has two older brothers—Reuben, the oldest, is a smokejumper—and two younger brothers. Wyatt is a hockey player, and Ford is a Navy SEAL.”

“Oh…my. So enough alpha male to go around, then.”

“You’re not helping.”

Cher laughed.

“He also has a younger sister, Ford’s twin, Ruby Jane. I met all of them but Ford a month ago at a family gathering for their mother’s sixtieth birthday.”

“You were at their ranch?”

Outside, the sky drizzled down a cool, late-April rainfall, reaping the fragrance of the lilacs shading the front porch and mixing with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee. A few cars splashed by.

“We hunkered down there for a couple weeks after the bombing. It was Tate’s idea. We hired him mostly for emotional well-being. None of us really thought we were in danger, but Kelsey started having panic attacks.”

“Are they related to her attack in Central Park?”

“Yeah. It’s been over a decade, but she still has wounds, especially since her attacker got paroled right about the time of the bombing.”

Cher raised an eyebrow.

“Mmmhmm. So, Kelsey wasn’t sleeping, and I thought having a bodyguard around might help her feel safe. When Tate found out about her past, he made the call to bring us to his ranch while he tracked down her attacker, just to make sure she wasn’t being stalked.”

Cher finished off her muffin. “And, was she?”

Glo nodded. “Actually, yes. And Tate and his brother found him, but…well, that wasn’t the biggest problem.”

“The biggest being that Tate has manly muscles and a killer smile?”

“I mentioned you’re making it worse.”

“I just don’t see what the big deal is here, Glo. He’s a bodyguard—he’s made for trouble. And it sounds like he’s pretty good at shutting it down.”

“He got the stuffing kicked out of him by a Russian mobster and nearly died.”

Cher frowned. “But he didn’t. Crisis averted.”

Glo ran her finger along the handle of her mug. “We got the gig from Nbr-X and decided to take it. Our debut was in Las Vegas. I didn’t know it then, but Tate has some sort of dark past in Las Vegas that involves the mob. They found out he was in town, and one of their thugs came looking for him.”

“And you, given the bruise you’re trying to cover up. And what’s with the bandage on your shoulder?”

“I was shot, but that was before.”

Cher’s eyes widened. “Shot? You were shot ?”

“Just a nick, but…yeah.”

“You’re leaving a lot out.”

“Okay, back to the bombers…one of them tracked us down at Tate’s ranch and winged me.”

“You make it sound like you’re in an action thriller.”

Huh. Maybe she was. Complete with hunky hero.

Except in this version, the hero went down with the plane, so to speak.

Not the ending she was after, thanks.

“Here’s the bottom line. The bombers are with the Bryant League, a leftist group who wants the United States out of all international ties.

They hate my mother because she’s a moderate and is on the National Security Council and has diplomatic ties with Russia and General Boris Stanislov.

I’ve even met him. Anyway, they’re trying to scare my mother into not running by threatening her—and apparently, me. ”

Cher’s face had lost its color. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. And that means Tate would be right in the middle of it all.”

“Keeping you alive. I’m a fan.”

“And possibly dying . No thank you. I still have nightmares of David driving over that IED, or whatever happened—believe me, my imagination has conjured up plenty of scenarios. No…I was right when I said once is enough. You’re right, grief does make you do crazy things…

and I…I’m tired of losing people I love. ”

Cher reached across the table to touch her arm. Squeezed. “Right. First Joy, then David.”

Glo shook her head. “And seeing Tate in that hospital bed. No—seeing him losing his life right before my eyes…I can’t sleep. And I certainly can’t live with it.”

Cher’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “I get it, despite the muscles and the hotness and the fact that the man would throw his body in front of a bullet for you.”

“I don’t want anyone to throw their body in front of me for a bullet, but especially not someone I…could…”

“Love?”

Glo raised a shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll never see him again.”

Cher let a beat pass, then, “Okay. We need to get you back on the horse. Forget about Tate. Move on.”

Glo held up her hand. “Thanks, but no. The last thing I need is a fresh horse.”

“Then what are you going to do? Hold campaign signs? Give speeches?”

“Please, no. I sing, and frankly, I hate doing solos. I’m not going to give a speech. I’d rather go onstage naked with a harmonica.”

Cher grinned. “That would certainly trend.”

Glo shook her head, and her glance fell on a couple who sat down next to the brick fireplace. Young, so much of their lives ahead.

The last month had left her wrung out and exhausted. “Mother has a fundraising event this weekend and she wants me to attend.”

“Oh, canapes and men in tuxes. Are you sure you’re not interested in trading up, cowgirl?”

“Yes. And to prove it, how about you come with me, as my plus-one.”

“And meet rich, eligible men IRL? Who, me?” Cher’s gaze drifted past Glo a moment and she nodded a greeting.

“Who—”

“Don’t turn around, but Sloan Anderson just walked in.”

Glo ducked her head. “I thought he worked in DC—isn’t he a lobbyist?”

“I don’t know, but he’s getting coffee, so you can stop turtling. But what’s the deal? Didn’t you two date?”

“No! He…we were just childhood friends. We played together as kids, and then in college, he sort of became a groupie.”

“Back when you were playing open mics…yes, I remember now. He would sit in the front row.”

“He mouthed my songs as I sang them. It was creepy.”

“Or dedicated. But hey—that’s what you should do. Write some songs and go solo.”