First Lady (30 page)

“That’s not all, and you know it!”

“No, I don’t know it! And I never bowed and scraped to anybody in my life!”

“Then tell me why we’re sitting out here instead of finishing what we started two nights ago! This is Iowa, Mat!
Iowa!
”

The fact that she’d had to remind him—that it mattered who she was—hurt too much. “Forget it. Just forget it.” She yanked open the door to the sunporch and hurried inside.

Mat watched the screen door slam and tried to figure out what had just happened. How had he become the bad guy? Was he supposed to throw the First Lady of the United States on her back and do everything to her he’d been thinking about all day? Damn her for not being Nell! And what was all that crap about bowing and scraping?

He jerked open the door. “Come back here!”

She didn’t, of course, because when had she ever done anything he’d asked her to?

He heard the side door slam and realized she was running off. Out to the motor home where she could lock herself away from him. Out to the motor home after he’d ordered her to stick like glue to his side. Had she once stopped to consider the crackpots who might be looking for her? Of course not.

He didn’t let the fact that he’d already made a fool of himself today with the backfiring incident keep him from charging through the house to the side door and out into the yard. On the way, he tried to calm himself down, and he’d almost succeeded when he found the door of the Winnebago
unlocked
. He nearly went catatonic. She was an idiot! And, First Lady or not, he intended to tell her so.

He stomped inside and found her throwing a sheet down on that miserable miniature couch where he’d spent the past four nights. “Are you out of your mind?” he exclaimed.

She whirled around, every inch the Queen of Sheba. “What do you want?”

“You didn’t even lock the damned door!”

“Quiet! You’ll wake up the girls.”

He glanced toward the closed door at the back, lowered his voice, and bore down on her. “As a taxpaying citizen of the United States, I resent like hell what you’re doing.”

“Then write your senator.”

“You think that’s cute? What if I were a terrorist? Exactly where do you think you’d be right now? And where do you think this country would be if some nut decided to take you hostage?”

“If the nut turned out to be as cracked as you, I’d be in big trouble!”

He thrust his hand toward the door. “Get back in that house where I can watch you!”

Those patrician nostrils flared, her aristocratic spine stiffened. “Excuuuse me?” She drew out the syllables like a long line he’d just stepped over. Her expression reminded him that, while his ancestors had been strapped to a plow in Eastern Europe, hers had been sipping martinis on country club verandas. He knew he’d gone too far, but he wanted her so damn bad that he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“Do you ever think about anybody but yourself?”

Her eyebrows shot right into that highborn forehead. “Get out!”

He was making a fool of himself, and if he stayed a moment longer, he’d only dig in deeper. But he’d never been good at backing away from a fight, so instead of acting like a reasonable adult, he leaned down and scooped her into his arms, blanket and all.

“Put me down! What do you think you’re doing?”

“My patriotic duty!” He kicked the door open, then had to juggle both her wiggling body and the door so he could lock it behind him before he carried her to the house.

“You are out of your teeny-tiny mind!”

“Probably.”

“Stop it right now! You’re acting like a Neanderthal!”

“Yeah, well, live with it.”

Inside Mabel, Lucy lay awake. The sound of the argument had brought her stomach pain back. She’d never expected them to fight like this. And she couldn’t even figure out what they were fighting about, since nothing Jorik said made sense. At least she understood it when Sandy and Trent used to fight about money.

But Jorik and Nell were a lot smarter than Sandy and Trent had been, smart enough to know that people needed to talk over their problems instead of just yelling at each other. What if they decided to break up?

Her stomach cramped.

She glanced over at Button, and the soft baby snores reassured her that her sister was still sleeping soundly. Making up her mind, she slipped out of bed and, moving as quietly as she could, made her way into the house.

“Put me down!”

“When I’m good and ready.”

She peeked around the corner and saw Mat carrying Nell up the stairs. Nell kept ordering him to let her go, and her voice sounded like she was shooting ice picks at him, but he wasn’t paying any attention.

Lucy’s stomach ache grew worse. Any minute now Jorik would go stomping off and get drunk, then Nell would start crying and get drunk, too. And then they wouldn’t talk to each other for a long time.

Lucy couldn’t stand it. She crept up the stairs in time to see Mat marching into the guest bedroom. There was a soft thumping sound as if he’d just set Nell down. Lucy reached the top step.

“Get out of here!”

“You bet I will!”

Lucy pressed her body against the wall and turned her head far enough to see inside. The only light in the room was coming from the hallway, but it was enough. And even though Mat had said he was leaving, he didn’t seem to be moving.

“Don’t think you’re going anywhere!” he exclaimed. “I’ll be sleeping right outside this door to make sure you stay where you are!”

“Stop telling me what to do!”

“Somebody has to!”

“Right! You never know when another car might backfire!”

They were so engrossed in their argument that they didn’t notice her. Nell just looked pissed, but Jorik looked really upset—like something big was wrong—and Lucy wished Nell would calm down long enough to ask him why he was so bummed. Any minute now Mat would stomp off, just like Trent used to.

Lucy started to turn away when she spotted the old skeleton key in the lock. Right then, she knew what she was going to do. It would get her in even bigger trouble, but Mat was already so mad at her, what did it matter?

Nell saw her just as she pulled the key from the lock. “Lucy? What—”

Lucy slammed the door, shoved the old key in the outside of the lock, and gave it a hard twist.

“Lucy!” Nell shrieked at the same time Jorik let out a yell.

Lucy put her mouth to the door and yelled right back. “You two have a
time out
!”

M
AT RUSHED TO
the door and twisted the knob, but it didn’t budge. He banged his fist against it. “Lucy! Open this door right now!”

Nothing but silence met his demand.

“Lucy, I’m warning you . . .”

With the door shut, the room’s only illumination came from the streetlight outside. Nealy hurried to the open window and looked down at the motor home in time to see the teenager run inside. She pressed her cheek against the glass. “You’re wasting your breath.”

He came over to stand beside her and followed the direction of her gaze. “This time she’s gone too far.”

Nealy wasn’t ready for their argument to end. She’d been ill-used, abused, and she had a whole litany of sins that she still wanted to rain down on his head. At the same time she wondered how he could look so good in a worn white T-shirt and gym shorts.

Straightening, she let the curtain fall back in place, turned on the small light that sat on top of the dresser, and glared at him. “This is all your fault.”

He pushed himself back from the window and sighed. “I know.”

That took the wind right out of her sails. Although she wasn’t proud to admit it, she’d been enjoying their fight. Imagine having someone yell at her like that. And imagine yelling right back without any need to censure her words or stifle her emotions. Her Litchfield ancestors must be spinning in their well-tended graves.

Even though he’d manhandled her, she hadn’t been the slightest bit afraid of him. He might believe he was capable of battering the females who upset him, but she knew differently.

She gave an injured sniff. “You frightened me to death.”

“I’m sorry. I really am.” He looked so dejected that she thought about taking pity on him, but then she thought not. First she wanted her pound of flesh.

Moving away from the window, she crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. “You stepped way over the line.

“I know. I—”

“You manhandled me! Terrified me!”

“I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry.”

“Do you know that it’s a high crime to harm a member of the first family? You could go to
prison
.”

Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to keep the relish from her voice, and he gave her a sideways look. “For how long?”

“Oh, ages and ages.”

“That long, huh?”

“I’m afraid so.” She gave him a biting glare. “But look on the bright side. In prison, there won’t be any
females
to clutter up your life.”

He moved away from the window toward the bed. “That does put a different spin on it.”

“Just tattooed men with names like Bruno. I’m sure a number of them will find you quite attractive.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her.

She glanced toward the locked door. “I’m glad I went to the bathroom before we started arguing. It looks like it might be a while before I get there again.”

He said nothing, but she still wasn’t finished annoying him. “Did you?”

“What?”

“Go to the bathroom.”

“For what?”

He was messing with her. “Forget I asked.”

“I definitely will.”

“When do you think she’ll let us out?”

“When she’s good and ready.”

She caught the flicker of a smile. “Don’t you dare condone what she did.”

“I’m going to beat her within an inch of her life.”

Now she was the one with the raised eyebrow. “Of course you are.”

He smiled again. “You’ve got to admire her guts. She knows there’s going to be hell to pay when I get out, but that didn’t stop her.”

Nealy’s own smile faded. “She’s desperate. I hate thinking about what she’s feeling.”

“Life’s tough.”

He wasn’t nearly as coldhearted as he pretended to be. She watched as he began to pace the room, slowly at first but picking up steam.

“I’m going to break down the door.”

“Spoken like a man.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Men like battering things. Bombing things.”

“
Your
friends bomb things. My friends just cuss, kick the couch, then fall asleep in front of the TV.” Once again he rattled the knob.

“Calm down. She’ll open the door in the morning.”

“I’m not spending the night closed up in here with you.”

“If you’re afraid I’ll attack, don’t worry,” she snapped. “You’re stronger than I am, so I’m sure you can defend yourself.”

“Come on, Nell. We haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other for days.”

She gave him a snooty look. “I haven’t had one bit of trouble keeping my hands off you.”

“That’s a bald-faced lie. You want me so bad you can’t stand it!”

“I was dallying with you, that’s all.”

“Dallying?”

“Amusing myself. Really, Mat, you didn’t believe I was serious, did you? The lies men tell themselves to protect their fragile egos.”

“The only thing fragile about me right now is my self-control. You know exactly what’s going to happen if we spend the night in here together!”

She congratulated herself on getting him riled again. “Of course I do. You’ll scowl and insult me. Then you’ll remember who you’re insulting, and you’ll back off.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She bore in on him. “I’m Cornelia Case, the widow of the President of the United States. And you can’t deal with it!”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

He was starting to yell again, which gratified her because there was nothing she wanted more than to go back to that place of yelling and passion and raw, biting emotion. “Things were fine when you believed I was poor little abandoned Nell Kelly, weren’t they?”

“Talk to me when you’re ready to make sense.”

“You could feel superior to poor Nell. But now that you know who I am, you aren’t man enough to handle it!”

Oh, boy . . . she’d done it with that one. Nobody challenged Mathias Jorik’s manhood and got away with it.

His gray eyes gleamed, he shot toward her, and the next thing she knew, she’d hit the mattress.

The bed frame shook as he sprawled next to her, triumph gleaming in those flint-gray eyes. She finally had him where she wanted him, but her victory wasn’t satisfying because she’d used psychological warfare when what she really wanted was to be courted.

He looked down at her, a myriad of emotions going to war on that magnificent battlefield of a face. “I’ve tried to be a gentleman about this . . .”

“A wimp is more like it.”

He reached beneath her top, whipped off the padding, and tossed it to the floor. “I’ve tried to be respectful . . .”

“You probably have rug burns on your knees from all that bowing and scraping.”