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Terry finally stepped in to end the questions and thank everyone for attending. Her father closed in on one side, Jim Millington on the other, Terry behind. She looked around for Mat, but he’d disappeared.
Her father rode with her to their next stop. “I suppose I shouldn’t have been so surprised to see that Jorik fellow. He’ll probably make a career out of writing about you.”
She shuddered at the idea.
Her next speech, an hour and a half later, was in the meeting room of a banquet hall. She’d barely begun before she spotted Mat standing in the back watching her. He asked no more questions, but she didn’t mistake his intentions. Until she arranged a meeting, he wasn’t going away.
By nine-thirty that evening, as she finished her last speech at a Chamber of Commerce dinner, she’d made up her mind. If he thought she was going to let him play cat and mouse with her, he was gravely mistaken.
She broke away from shaking hands with the members of the Falls Church Chamber of Commerce and made her way toward him before he could slip away. The photographers who were still following her surged forward to get the first pictures of the two of them together.
She regarded Mat levelly. “I want to see you at my house at ten tomorrow morning.”
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
She barely slept that night, something she could ill afford with a full afternoon of meetings ahead of her. As soon as Tamarah put Andre down for his morning nap, she sent her into town with Button on a series of errands that would keep the baby out of the house until Mat was gone. Then she watched the clock crawl toward ten o’clock.
Squid perked up his ears as the sound of a whimper came over the baby intercom. Andre usually took a long morning nap, but today he’d apparently decided to wake early. Her housekeeper wouldn’t be arriving until noon, so Nealy hurried to get him, the dog following.
The baby lay on his back in the crib. He wore a bright blue Winnie the Pooh sleeper, and his brown eyes were filled with tears that stopped falling as soon as he spotted her. For a few moments Nealy forgot her own troubles as she gazed down at him, so sweet and full of personality.
“What’s the matter, little guy? Have a bad dream?” She scooped her hands beneath his warm body and lifted him to her shoulder. He was a beautiful baby with milk chocolate skin and a studious air, as if he hadn’t yet decided what to make of the world.
The intercom from the front gate buzzed twice, announcing that she had company on the way, and Nealy said one of Button Jorik’s favorite words. “Sit!”
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.
23
MAT 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 swe
