Love Is Elected (20 page)

"I know it's all over between Matt and me," she choked out. "I know for certain now that he doesn't love me."

Mrs. Jordan's blue eyes were full of concern. "Oh, Kara, I think you're mistaken. Would you like to tell me what happened," she continued in a gentle voice.

Kara shook her head. "Oh no. I just can't."

Wisely, the older woman didn't press her.

"Why don't you go upstairs and take a hot bath? And when you come out, I'll have a tray sent up to your room. Maybe you'll feel more like talking in the morning."

A hot bath. It sounded wonderful. She was halfway up the stairs when another thought entered her mind.

"Please, if Matt calls, don't tell him I'm here," she begged Mrs. Jordan.

The older woman hesitated. "But he might be worried about you."

Kara looked doubtful.

"All right, my dear, I'll respect your wishes for tonight."

Gratefully, Kara climbed the remaining steps and headed for the guest bedroom. Mrs. Jordan's voice floated after her. "Since you don't have any luggage, I'll leave a nightgown and robe in the guest room."

Alone at last in the bathroom, Kara began to run steamy water into the tub. Automatically she reached for a bottle of bath oil and poured it into the churning water. As the scent of peach blossoms rose to her nostrils, she remembered the similar bottle in Matt's apartment. Could it have been left there by his mother? But she didn't want to think of Matt just now.

Stripping off her clothes, she climbed into the tub and sank down into the warm, scented water, letting it wrap her unhappy thoughts in an obscuring cloud of mist. She couldn't bear to think of what had happened. She wanted only to forget.

After her bath, she had a cup of soup and nibbled dutifully at the roast beef sandwich Mrs. Jordan sent her. But she soon set the tray aside and lay back against the soft pillows on the bed. Overcome by exhaustion it was only a few minutes before she had drifted off into a deep sleep.

Over the next few days, Mrs. Jordan was able to draw out some of the story that had brought Kara in such distress to Windy Willow Farm. She confided her doubts about Matt's love, her jealousy of Vera Caldwell, the cruel rebuff she had received from Frank Adams, and her feelings of inadequacy at being able to handle the job of a politician's wife. The stormy sexual encounters she kept to herself, not knowing what to say to Matt's mother about such intimate details of their marriage.

Tuesday was primary election day, and Kara stayed in bed late trying to avoid thinking about Matt. But when she finally came downstairs, a radio news broadcast describing voter turnout assailed her ears.

"I can see the election news distresses you," Mrs. Jordan said, setting down the cup of coffee she was drinking. Kara nodded weakly.

"You must realize that this primary is one of the most important days in Matt's life," the older woman continued. "His political future is at stake. It could be your future, too," Mrs. Jordan said pointedly.

Kara looked startled. For the past few days her mother-in-law had been so comforting. But now her tone was firm.

"This is the time when Matt most needs you to stand by him. If you fail him now, how will you feel about yourself? After all, if you're honest, you'll admit that you do love him, regardless of your differences."

"But he doesn't love me," Kara objected. "And I can't take his rejection another time. He probably prefers Vera at his side now anyway."

"Is that what you really want?"

"Of course not," Kara admitted, realizing how true her statement was. She hated the thought of that redhead hanging on his arm. The idea made her sick.

"I never thought the daughter of Catherine Hilton Barnett would be a coward."

Kara blanched. "I'm not a coward!" she insisted.

"Then why are you admitting defeat without putting up a good fight?" Mrs. Jordan countered sternly.

"I… I don't know. I don't want to talk about it. I feel so confused. Let me think." Fleeing back to her room, Kara got dressed in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. Maybe the cool spring air outside would help clear away the fog of confusion that was clouding her mind.

She took a path that led away from the barn toward a small stream she could see in the distance. Its verge was snowy with massed bushes of blooming wild blackberries. As she absentmindedly plucked one of the blossoms and twirled it between her fingers, Mrs. Jordan's words echoed in her mind.

"A coward," she had called her. "A woman who was willing to admit defeat without putting up a good fight." Maybe Mrs. Jordan was right. Maybe she was letting Vera win by default. She had faced Matt's rejection before. Maybe now she had to be brave enough to face it one more time—in order to win her husband back. She knew that she loved him and could never be happy with anyone else. Wasn't it worth any risk to make their marriage work?

Kara stopped in mid-stride, realizing she had made a decision. Resolutely she turned and hurried back to the house. Mrs. Jordan was still sitting at the dining room table and smiled when she saw the expression on Kara's face.

"You're right," her daughter-in-law announced. "Matt is worth fighting for. I'm going back to our town house now and I'll be by his side tonight when the election returns come in."

"I'm proud of you," Mrs. Jordan beamed. "I always knew you were a fighter. I only said those harsh words to make you realize it yourself."

Kara gave her mother-in-law a quick hug. "I'll see you at the election party tonight," she promised before running upstairs to get her purse.

Moments later she was in her car, heading for Matt's town house in Columbia. As she neared the entrance she wondered if he would be at home. But his car wasn't in the driveway. He must be out for a final campaign swing.

Inside, Kara changed into a flowered silk shirtwaist she had purchased at White Flint Mall. Then she carefully fixed her hair in a sophisticated upsweep and meticulously applied her makeup. Her first stop was Matt's campaign headquarters in nearby Ellicott City, where she scooped up an armload of his literature. Although she hadn't been allowed to help with the campaign up till now, there was no way Frank Adams could stop her. Today she could do the same job as any campaign worker. Determined, she headed for the nearest polling place, where she spent the afternoon passing out flyers and talking about Matt to incoming voters.

She barely noticed when a TV camera crew appeared to record the voter turnout for the six o'clock news. Dinner was a doughnut and coffee brought in by one of the young campaign workers.

"When are you leaving for the victory party at the Kittamaqundi room?" the worker asked conversationally as Kara took a few moments out to eat.

She had been so caught up in campaigning that she had almost forgotten that she would be seeing Matt there that evening.

"I thought I'd wait till the polls closed," she told the worker.

He glanced at his watch. "Listen, it's already seven o'clock. Why don't you let me give out the rest of your literature and you go on over, Mrs. Jordan," he urged.

Kara smiled. "Thank you. I think I'll take you up on the offer."

But when she got in her car, a queasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. How would Matt receive her? Would she be able to carry through her role as politician's wife? Maybe if she went home and changed she could delay the moment of truth a little longer. But she vetoed the idea. If she went back to Matt's town house, she might not have the courage to show up at the reception at all.

Arriving at the stunning modern office building whose top floor reception room had been reserved for Matt's election party, Kara eased her hatchback into a parking space. The building overlooked Columbia's downtown lake, and she glanced toward the serene blue water before pulling open the door to the lobby.

"I'm with the Jordan campaign," she told the sleekly coiffed receptionist.

"Oh, yes. You can go right up to the fourth floor."

"I'd like to stop in the powder room and freshen my makeup," Kara told her.

"Right around the corner," the woman gestured.

After patting a few loose strands of hair into place and putting on fresh lipstick, Kara drew in a nervous breath. It's now or never, she told herself and headed toward the elevator.

The elegant Kittamaqundi room with its floor to ceiling windows overlooking the lake was already half full. Kara searched the crowd for Matt. Finally she spotted him in a corner, head to head with Frank Adams. As she made her way toward them, Matt glanced up. A startled expression crossed his face. It was quickly replaced with a smile that didn't quite reach his steely eyes.

"Ah, here's Kara now," he said, giving her a searching look and drawing her to his side. "You will excuse us, won't you, Frank. We have a few personal matters to discuss."

Kara felt Matt's iron grip on her arm, as he led her to a small room at the side of the large hall. "Where in the hell have you been?" he rasped.

Kara blanched. "As a matter of fact, I've been at Windy Willow Farm," she countered.

"Do you expect me to believe that my own mother wouldn't tell me where you were?" he snapped, his voice acid.

"I don't care what you believe; it's the truth," Kara insisted. This was not the reaction she had hoped for from Matt. Maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe she should never have come here at all. "Are you trying to make me leave?" she quavered.

But he shook his head, smiling cynically. "I didn't mean to give that impression, Kara. I don't know what your reasons are for showing up tonight. But I am grateful for small favors. And I certainly hope you're not going to run out on me again."

Kara mustered all of her dwindling stock of courage. "Matt, I've got to talk to you about why I came back," she began. But a loud knock on the door cut her short.

"Mr. Jordan, a reporter from one of the local TV stations is here. He wants to interview you right away."

Matt gave Kara a comprehending look. "You're right, we do have to talk. But we can't do it here or now. Can I count on you to stay this evening and see the election through?"

Unable to trust herself to speak, Kara nodded. She wasn't sure anymore what the two of them had to talk about; but now that she was here, she realized how bad it would look if she simply vanished again.

Kara followed Matt's disappearing form through the door back into the main room. Almost immediately one of the campaign workers stopped her.

"The first returns have started coming in," the woman announced.

"How's Matt doing?" Kara asked, trying at least to act the part of the proud politician's wife.

"It looks good," the woman assured her. "Matt's taken an early lead in the part of the district that we thought would be his weakest area."

Kara smiled. Despite her mixed feelings about Matt, she was pleased that he was doing well.

High expectations ran through the crowd. The reception was beginning to take on a definite party atmosphere. Someone pressed a glass of white wine into Kara's hand. And someone else handed her a plate with a corned beef sandwich. Not knowing how to manage both at the same time, she headed for one of the tables at the side of the room. Settling down, she saw that she was sitting next to the campaign worker she had met at the polls earlier that afternoon.

"After dessert, I see you've found the entree," he joked as they were joined by Frank Adams.

"Hey, I saw you two on the six o'clock news," he said with the first trace of friendliness he'd shown toward Kara since they'd met. Looking surprised, the young woman nodded warily.

"If I'd known we were going to be on TV, I'd have worn a coat and tie," the worker kidded. It was just then that Matt appeared at the table.

"Were you campaigning for me this afternoon?" he questioned, giving Kara a quizzical look.

"Oh, she was there all afternoon, Mr. Jordan," the young worker answered for her. "She's quite a trouper. You're lucky to have her on your side."

Kara felt herself flush. And Matt looked puzzled. But before he could say anything else, a messenger appeared at his side.

"Telephone for you, Mr. Jordan."

Matt excused himself, and the little group broke up. Kara finished her sandwich and took a few sips of wine. I'd better not drink much of this, she thought. I'm so tired now it might just put me to sleep. Maybe I can get a cola at the bar.

She was on her way across the broad expanse of floor when Vera Caldwell, a fierce expression on her face, accosted her.

"I think we have something to discuss," she said pointedly.

"I don't have anything to discuss with you," Kara retorted.

"I think you do. And if you don't want to make a scene, I suggest you come out into the hall," the redhead insisted maliciously.

Feeling trapped, Kara allowed herself to be led out.

"What are
you
doing here?" Vera hissed when they were out of range of the partygoers.

"I have every right to be here at my husband's side," Kara parried.

"Even when you know your husband doesn't love you?"

Kara winced at the verbal thrust. But she remembered Mrs. Jordan's words.

"All I have is your word that Matt doesn't care for me," she countered. "And I'll have to hear it from
him
before I believe it."

Vera's face twisted in anger. "Why, the timid little mouse has claws. But they aren't long enough to scratch me. I suggest you crawl back in your hole before Wayne and I let loose a scandal that will really rock this city."

"But there's absolutely nothing between me and Wayne," Kara protested. "And there never will be. I can't stand the sight of him."

"Oh I don't doubt that," Vera soothed, "but I don't care what kind of story I have to use to get Matt away from your clutches. Admit it Kara, I'm a lot more suitable wife for Matt than you are."

Kara felt her knees turn to jelly. She had come here with such resolution. But she found herself no match for the redheaded reporter's vicious tongue.

She was casting around for a verbal weapon to hurl back when a harsh male voice intervened.

"Suppose you let the man in question pick his own partner," Matt suggested tersely as he stepped around the corner from the telephone room.