Blaze: A Texas Heat Novel (3 page)

Victorian cottages, bungalows and sprawling mansions dotted the hills. Downtown was like a gingerbread village. Tourists roamed the square, the shops were open, the farmer’s market in full swing. Emerson smiled. The poets were wrong, you can go home again.

The campaign office for the re-election of Mayor Dylan Chambers was abuzz with patriotic idealism. Interns worked the phones, volunteers wore slogan tee shirts and canvassed neighborhoods, staff spoke to the press and took to Facebook and Twitter to promote their candidate. Dylan sat behind his desk facing what he privately called the firing squad.

His grandmother, God bless her, had the instincts of a shark going for blood in the water. Menerva Chambers knew the political landscape, understood the players, and bent them to her will like chess pieces on a board. The matriarch ruled her family with an iron fist. Dylan adored the old battleax. He affectionately called her Grumpy. She stood six foot one, reed thin, her face chiseled to classical perfection. Her gun mettle hair cut in a stylish bob. She marched the length of the office in a power suit and cowboy boots.

Dylan’s campaign manager, Jordan Winters had a cellphone in each hand putting out fires, setting up press interviews. Jordan was a lawyer who never lost a case. Dylan valued his sage advice and pit-bull loyalty. Dylan’s father, Senator George Chambers was an older version of him – tall, handsome and wickedly dynamic.

“Think about running for Senator next term,” Menerva said. She had a way of making a request sound like a military command. Dylan took a sip of coffee and leaned back in his swivel chair. He nodded curtly. After a flurry of activity, Jordan finally got off the phone. “You’re up eight points in the polls but I want you to beat that smug bastard by double digits.”

“It’s a comfortable lead,” Dylan said.

“Double digits snuffs out all hope,” Menerva said, “You have to cut his throat Dylan, use the ammo I gave you.”

“No,” Dylan said, “I’m not getting in the gutter, no negative ads. I win this on the strength of my agenda – to serve this town.”

“Okay Pollyanna,” Jordan drawled, “Stop being a choir boy, get your hands dirty.”

“Amen!” Menerva said.

Dad was oddly quiet. “What do you think?” Dylan asked.

George steepled his fingers in deep thought. “You won clean before, but I don’t want a result that’s too close to call. A single digit lead can vanish overnight. All it takes is a whiff of scandal and the tide turns in your opponent’s favor.”

Menerva and Jordan nodded in unison.

His father mused, “If you decide to run for Senate-”

“He will,” Menerva said.

“Voters trust a man with a family. If you give the town something to celebrate like a wedding perhaps.”

Dylan groaned. Here we go again. Menerva clapped her jeweled hands with glee.

“Social media would explode,” Jordan said. “Even an engagement announcement would be enough to clinch the victory, it’ll be a slam dunk.”

Dylan ran a hand through his golden brown hair. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“What about that European heiress?” Dad asked. “I liked her.”

“You liked her father’s billions,” Dylan said.

“That too,” George said with a twinkle in his eye.

Dylan shrugged. “She bored me.”

“What about the actress?” Jordan asked.

“We had nothing in common.”

“Are you gay?” Menerva asked with all the subtly of a sledgehammer.

Jordan and George chuckled. Dylan grinned. “Ah no.”

“Didn’t think so,” Menerva said, “You’re twenty-eight years old. Now is the time to strike.” She pounded her fist in her palm.

“Don’t hold back on the romance,” Dylan said. He winked at the old girl.

“Don’t try to charm me boy it won’t work,” she said gruffly.

Dylan knew better.

“A wedding will turn out the soccer mom vote and your vision for the town will fire up the base.”

Dylan came close to matrimony only once in his life. Ten years ago, he was only eighteen, but God – how he loved that girl. Of course, no one in the room knew about that.

Dylan shifted uncomfortably. He slammed the door shut on that memory years ago. He had to, for the sake of his sanity. Emerson Riley had been a weakness, a momentary lapse of judgement on his part. Letting her go was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Dylan shook his head as if to clear it.

“I’ll get married,” he said, all business, “Make a list.”

His grandmother whipped out a type written page. “I have a short list handy,” she said.

“Of course you do,” Dylan drawled.

Jordan peeked at the names before handing the list over. “Portia Langley, have you seen the tits on her?”  

“Yes,” his grandmother said, “My plastic surgeon did them, her perky D cups come with a money back guarantee. Her grandfather is Supreme Court Justice Edward Langely. Need I say more?”

“Brittania Wentworth,” Dylan said with a shudder.

“What?” Menerva asked, “She’s a beautiful young lady, her father is the Earl of something, her mother is-”

“The White House Chief of staff, I know,” Dylan said, “But she’s dumb as a box of rocks.”

“You’re being kind,” Jordan said, “She has a single brain cell, maybe two.”

Grandmother Menerva was undaunted. “Even idiots need love.”

“Who said a damn thing about love,” Dylan muttered.

“Not me,” Dad said with a cynical expression.

“I second that,” Jordan said.

“Marriage is the ultimate corporate merger,” the matriarch said, her blue eyes aglow, “What about Lea Saint James? She’s my top choice, you dated her for ages, a proposal would hardly come as a surprise.”

Dad grunted his approval. Jordan rubbed his jaw. “Oh yes, she will do, stunning beauty, brains, PhD.”

“From the right stock,” Menerva said wistfully, “She has a president and a British royal in her family tree.”

Dylan nodded. They dated off and on for years. Lea was the complete package – a blue blood, sophisticated, gorgeous and intelligent. “Lea fits the criteria.”

“To a tee,” Menerva agreed.

“Okay, call her people, invite her family for brunch,” Dylan said.

“Consider it done,” his grandmother said eagerly. She rushed out the door to plot his love life.

“God help me,” Dylan said. “I haven’t seen her that happy since that televised all night session of Congress.”

Jordan shook his head. “If I were you I’d say a few Hail Marys and pray to every Saint there is.” For good measure, Jordan did the sign of the cross over his chest.

As political stunts go, an engagement was the ultimate. Dylan drew up a spreadsheet agenda for the dating period, detailed schematics for the engagement and the logistics for a society wedding.

Chapter 4

Emerson cruised down Grand Oak Avenue and sighed her contentment. The 80’s band, The Police blasted from her speakers as she belted out a song off key. Ironically, the real police flashed blue and red lights behind her.

“Crap,” she muttered. She pulled over between the Children’s Museum and the Candy Emporium.

The officer ambled by her side. “License and registration,” he ordered.

“I’m sorry officer but um, what did I do?” she asked.

He wore sunglasses that shielded his eyes. “Your music violated our noise ordinance.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes ma’am.” He took her I.D and did a double take. His jaw dropped. “Bookworm?”

Emerson burst out laughing. “It’s been a while since anyone called me that.”

He took off his glasses. “Thor?” she asked.

Donavan McClain grinned. That’s what they called him back in the day. His laugh sounded like rolling thunder. “I don’t wear the cape to work.”

Emerson had to look up, way up. Her friend, Harper Grant, hated Donavan’s guts. They fought all through elementary, middle and high school. Their arguments were legendary in a town this small. Harper gave him the nickname Thor. It wasn’t a term of endearment. She would say - “Em, I’d like to shove that hammer up his-”

“Man alive girl, I haven’t seen you in years.” He had dimples. Oh my. The running back for the Aberdeen Prep football team was always easy on the eye. Oddly, Harper never saw his appeal.

“I’m in town for my gran,” Emerson said.

“How is she?”

“Going strong, thanks.”

“Welcome home! I’ll let you off with a verbal warning.”

“Thanks.”

“Good to see you.”

“Likewise.”

He returned her license. As he walked away, Emerson couldn’t help but check out his fine ass in the rear view mirror. Damn! She thought. He pulled away from the curb in his squad car and waved. Women love a man in uniform. Well amen to that!

Emerson picked up her cell and dialed.

“Halloo darling,” she said.

A booming laugh sounded on the other end of the line. “Hey sunshine, you made it home yet?” Harper asked.

“Yeah, I was in town all of two minutes when I got pulled over.”

“For what?”

“My music.”

“Oh that stupid noise ordinance. I swear the city council has collectively lost their ever loving minds.” Harper huffed. “They’ve passed a bunch of so called laws lately. I wanna bash them all over the head.”

Emerson drove to one of three stop lights in town. “Hey, back to my cop, or should I say yours?”

It took a second before Harper growled. “Thor?”

“Yup, why didn’t you tell me how freaking gorgeous he is?”

“Eew, take that back.”

“Donavan McClain is fine as vintage wine.”

“That’s it, you’re fired. I’m rescinding my friendship effective immediately.”

Emerson wasn’t fooled. “Harper, when was the last time you really looked at him?”

“When he yelled in my face just the other day, he’s a Neanderthal, a caveman, a f-ugly Viking!”

Oookay. “Forget I said anything.”

A siren blared. Harper was a paramedic on a twenty-four hour shift. “Oh, gotta go, see you babe.”

“Bye sugar.” Emerson smiled. It’s a wonder Harper and Donavan haven’t killed each other yet.

The giant poster of Dylan Chambers’ gorgeous face made her physically jump. Good Lord! It wasn’t the first time she saw that killer smile. Over the years she kept tabs on him through the girls in town and on social media. Emerson was guilty of checking his Facebook page once or twice like a stalker. She tore her eyes away and drove on. Ancient history Riley, she chided herself. Bet he doesn’t even remember your name.

Dylan met his mother for lunch every Friday when he wasn’t taking care of town business or at the capitol building in Austin for political meetings. It was their tradition, lunch at The Dixie Pixie – chicken fried steak, biscuits and gravy, sweet iced tea and a slice of pecan pie. They sat in their favorite booth with a view of town square.

Mom wore a prim ivory sweater set with a tailored black skirt and stripper heels.

“Why do you wear those?” he nodded to the shoes.

“It aggravates your father.” She seemed to live for that. Dylan didn’t want to think about his parent’s lifeless marriage. But he loved her too much to remain silent.

“Mom, why don’t you and dad just call it a day? Divorce him already, go and be happy.”

Ava Chambers averted her eyes. She never betrayed a shred of emotion where his father was concerned.

“So, Lea Saint James?” Ava smoothly changed the subject. He let her.

“Yep,” he said.

His mother took a few small bites without further comment.

“What? That’s it?”

Ava shrugged a dainty shoulder. “Meh, she’s okay.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow, surprised by that lackluster reaction. “Most mamas would crawl over broken glass to get Lea as their in-law.”

Ava waved a manicured hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I see the appeal – wealthy, she looks like a supermodel, smart, blah, blah, blah.”

Dylan grinned. “Blah, blah, blah?”

“Yada, yada,” his mother said with another shrug.

“Well she’s coming next weekend.”

Ava stopped eating. A frown appeared between her brilliant blue eyes. “You really mean to propose?”

“Yes.” He didn’t know why he suddenly felt defensive.

“But you don’t love her.”

Of all the reasons to object! “Love?” he said. “What does love have to do with it? It’s a career move, business, a piece of paper combining assets, like merging corporations and property, supporting mutual ambitions, negotiating the future.”

The look on his mother’s face stunned him. The grief, rage, fear and overwhelming sadness screamed from every pore of her body. He took her hand in his. “Mom? What is it?”

“I hoped…I just wanted more for you than this,” Ava whispered. “Marriage can be beautiful you know, at least it should be.”

How the hell would she know? Dylan never heard her say such a thing in his life. Ava regained her composure. “When I think of Lea Saint James, she’s like gourmet cuisine – great presentation, rich, tasty but you’re still hungry after paying a hundred bucks for a tiny plate that doesn’t leave you satisfied. What you need is a juicy burger, a pile of fries and a sweet milkshake.”

Dylan laughed. “So Lea’s not juicy enough huh?”

Ava laughed too. The tension, only moments before, gave way to their familiar championship.

“I’m just saying you need someone you can be yourself with. After a day of political theatre, I want you to have someone real and true to come home to, a woman who makes you feel…alive.”

Dylan didn’t like where this conversation was going. It hit too close to all the reasons why he never thought seriously about marriage until now. Even though he achieved every ambition up until this point, sometimes, it felt empty. 

“I hear you’re up in the polls,” she said breezily. “I’m so proud of you sweetheart.”

Dylan regarded her. His blond hair, blue eyed mother was such a beauty. She could find love again. Why didn’t she try? He asked her about her charity work. She brightened and talked for several minutes. A few patrons greeted him.

“Hi Mr. Mayor!”

“Mayor Chambers!”

Dylan would nod or smile in acknowledgement. “Hmm, try the mashed taters,” His mom said, “To die for.”

The jukebox chimed. Someone played Rod Stewart’s
Downtown
Train
. Dylan felt the pull of nostalgia. He danced with Emerson Riley to that song. In ten years, he managed to avoid hearing it. He chided himself.
Come on Chambers, it was a million years ago
!