Stay (Dunham series #2) (43 page)

“Yes, you do,” she agreed quietly. “We’re all very
proud of you, Eric. Proud to be behind you, associated with
you.”

“Yeah, so why do I feel like shit?” he burst
out.

She took a deep breath, in through the nose, held
it, out through the mouth. Looked at the floor. “It doesn’t mean
much without the person you love,” she murmured.

He started. “Uh, Giselle— You and Bryce . . . ?”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “No, no. We’re fine.
But when we started out together— I . . . had to give up something
I wanted very badly in order to be with him. I was just remembering
that. I . . . ” She stared off out the front windows then and Eric
could see tears sparkling in her eyes. “I would’ve sacrificed
anything to be with Bryce, but I really had to think about it. I
couldn’t have them both. It was the hardest choice I’ve ever had to
make and it
hurt
.”

Even without specifics, Eric understood what she was
telling him.

“Laura Ingalls Wilder,” he murmured, and felt
Giselle’s surprise at the abrupt change of topic. “You know her
work?”

“Yes.”

“Not a lot of emotion in her writing.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s subdued. Matter-of-fact.
Very, ah . . .
suck it up
.” Her mouth twitched. “Very little
bitching about serious problems. No sparkle to the relationships,
but strong ties and quiet love, all highly romanticized. That would
appeal to a child in Vanessa’s situation, and she bought into the
romance of it because she was too young to know better.”

He took a deep breath, not sure he wanted to spill
his guts like this. “Vanessa said something about us, her and me,
being poor trailer trash. She said she hated drama and the stupid
thing was, we’re standing in the middle of Silver Dollar City,
right? and she’s screaming at me, telling me I make her have drama.
Don’t have a clue what she means, but
she’s
the one going
totally apeshit.”

“Huh. She’s always been pretty quiet, circumspect.
Always strove to be like Laura.”

“Uh . . . the painting?
Maxim
?
Esquire
?”

“I said she
tried
. Then Sebastian happened to
her.”

Eric rolled his eyes and Giselle chuckled.

“She prays to Laura. Like a god.”

Giselle shrugged. “Well, as gods go, she’s an
excellent one to have.”

Eric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Vanessa has . . . everything. She’s smart and talented. Gracious.
Beautiful.”

“The perfect wife for an up-and-coming
politician.”

Indeed.

“Tell me something. Why do you think she’s still
holding onto LaVon like a talisman?”

Giselle pursed her lips. “I can only guess.”

Eric inclined his head in acknowledgment of her
warning.

“My Aunt Trudy—Knox’s mother—defined me the way
LaVon defines Vanessa. It’s hard to break away from, especially if
it happens very early in life.”

“You broke Trudy’s face,” he said wryly. “That had
to’ve helped.”

Not a ghost of a smile. “Yes and no. Justice, not
closure. You never really get that. You never feel . . .
clean
. Annie has the same issues with her mother.”

Eric started, his history with Annie flashing
through his mind instantly. “Yeah. Her whole life is a reaction to
her mom.”

Rose and Laura didn’t get along.

“We can talk after class if you want, Eric, but I
have to get back to work.”

He shook his head and went back to his office.
Talking wouldn’t help.

You make me have drama!

Apparently. It had been nonstop drama from the time
he’d turned around one day and saw a thirteen-year-old Vanessa
looking at him with
that
expression on her face.

Eric and Vanessa had been connected ever since.

Yet . . . not.

What had been his overriding goal in taking Vanessa
to Silver Dollar City? To experience her range of emotion? Well,
hell.

Fire

Passion

Laughter

Lust

Anger

I’ve never held hands with a boy before.

Have you ever had a boyfriend?

No.

Staking her claim on him publicly and with no
hesitation, purposely drawing him into her fetish that, until Eric,
had been hers and hers alone.

Eric sat back and groaned, rubbing his forehead and
eyes as if he hadn’t already done that enough these past few
months.

I love you, Eric. Stay with me.

. . . stay out of my life . . . it killed me when
you left the first time, and again when you left the second
time.

He was still as confused about that as he had been
since he’d left Silver Dollar City five months ago. She seemed to
have been trying to communicate something entirely different from
what she’d actually said.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

He looked up to see Knox leaning against the
doorjamb. “Just got back from Salt Lake.”

“I can tell by your scuffed-up face. See, I don’t
get that. Giselle, either, but she’s a freak anyway. Have you seen
the collar Bryce put on her?”

“The ink he got around his arm is a helluva lot more
permanent than a pretty choker she can take off at will.”

Knox blinked. “Take off? Serious?”

“Yeah, all is not as it seems with those two.”

“Oh, hell, he was freaky like that before he knew
what it was. She just makes it okay for him to indulge his inner
bad boy.”

Eric chuckled. “What’s up?”

“Well, I wanted to come congratulate the next
attorney general of the state of Missouri. You’ve apparently
already won the election and it’s not for a couple of years
yet.”

Eric didn’t bother to respond.

“Photo shoots everywhere. You made the cover of
Details
and
GQ
, even.”

Eric grunted.

Knox took a seat on the couch across from Eric’s
desk and lounged back in it, clasped his hands behind his head and
stared at Eric. Chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“You spend five months preparing and trying the case
of a lifetime,” he said abruptly after a moment. “But instead of
going to see your girlfriend when you win, you go see your karate
teacher to get the shit beat out of you. Even
I
can’t miss
that. Talk to me.”

Eric shook his head and ground his jaw.

. . . you make me have drama!

Looked at the floor. Pursed his lips. “She . . .
gave me an ultimatum. In June.” He took a deep breath. “She wanted
me to pick up and move there, right then. If I wasn’t willing to do
that, she’d cut me off. No email, no phone calls, no text
messaging. No trying, no . . . possibility, no . . . nothing.”

“Well, I can’t blame her for not wanting a
long-distance relationship.”

“You don’t get it. She wanted me to move there so we
could
date
. To find out if we could have a relationship, and
here I was thinking we already did.”

“Oh. Huh.”

Thinking about it suddenly made Eric mad all over
again.

“You know what?” he burst out. “It was completely
unreasonable for her to demand something like that when neither of
us knows how it’ll turn out. And completely irresponsible of me to
comply.” He sat up and glared at Knox, then poked his finger into
his desk. “I may not make as much money as she does and I may not
ever have anybody who directly depends on me for their livelihood,
but I do have my own life and my own success. I have my own
responsibilities and they aren’t any less important than hers. In
fact, they’re
more
important.”

Knox’s silence only made Eric madder.

“If I had left this studio in June when she wanted
me to, it would’ve crashed and burned, leaving Dirk and Giselle in
the lurch. Why would I do that? I just got elected in a landslide
in spite of what happened with Simone, which means that this entire
county trusts me to protect them regardless of what I may or may
not have done. And then just . . . resign? Are you fucking kidding
me? Oh, poor Vanessa,
forced
to be all alone down there in
the Ozarks with her weekend CFO and her fucked-up nephew and her
pet missionaries and a filthy rich old man who lives in a
broken-down cabin on the back forty like he’s a Lynyrd Skynyrd song
come to life. Yeah, color me guilt-ridden.

“And you know what else? Because I didn’t give in to
her then, this dojo can stand on its own now. If I left, Dirk and
Giselle would do just fine as long as they keep my name on it.
Nobody in Chouteau County expects me to stay now that the
governor’s tapped me and the powers that be at the RNC are kissing
my ass. I can just name my executive as the interim prosecutor and
then she can win her own fucking election when I leave.”

Knox winced.

“Chouteau County would have a parade. The first
Hilliard got rid of Nocek and iced a serial killer. His protégé put
a child-murderer on death row. Who the hell knows what a second
Hilliard—who’s got the nation’s ear—could accomplish, right? So
whether you like it or not, whether Vanessa likes it or not, I did
the right thing and I resent being the bad guy. I wanted to try.
She
wasn’t willing to compromise at all, not even so much as
an email, much less come up here to see
me
.”

Eric gritted his teeth. “This is Simone all over
again. I did the right thing when I spit in her face, and she
punished me for it. I did the right thing in not jumping when
Vanessa snapped her fingers, and she’s punishing me for it. She
doesn’t want drama. She says I make her have drama. So you know
what? She can just continue on with her drama-less life—without me
as her primary irritation. I’m a fucking idiot, getting involved
with another woman in that family and don’t think LaVon’s any less
of a nuisance than she ever was, so you can take your . . .
helpfulness
. . . and shove it up your ass.”

Knox stared at him—well,
through
him. “So . .
. you’re just going to write her off.”

“She wrote me off. She doesn’t give a shit what I
want.”

“What
do
you want?”

Eric blinked. “I want—” And for the first time in
his adult life, he couldn’t finish that sentence immediately. “Too
much, apparently,” he muttered finally. “I want her with me on the
campaign trail, waiting for me in Jeff City when I come home at
night. First Lady. Of Missouri. Then the United States.”

“But . . . ?”

“But I also want to be with her at Whittaker House,”
he admitted, low. “Taking care of the place so she can cook.
Raising Vachel.” He paused. “A family.”

Knox stared at him stone-faced.

“There’s no possible compromise that I can see,”
Eric murmured. “For us to have a relationship, one of us is going
to have to capitulate. And it ain’t gonna be me.”

Knox remained silent.

“What,” Eric finally snapped when the silence drew
too thin for his comfort.

“That ultimatum she gave you,” he said
thoughtfully.

“Yeah, so what.”

“You need to think about that for a while.”

“What the fuck—? Hilliard—”

Knox arose and turned to leave. Stopped at the
threshold. Studied the door jamb for a few seconds before speaking
again. “Vanessa can be quite manipulative,” he said
matter-of-factly. “She constructs these schemes, see, to get people
to do what she wants. Simple ones, elaborate ones. Like I do with
numbers, only she does it with human nature. With asshole guests,
it’s a game to her, but anything more serious than that . . . With
people she loves . . . She’ll do it, but as a last resort. Only if
she thinks she’s serving some greater good and the direct approach
isn’t working for her.”

Well, it’s not like I use my powers for evil.

Before Eric could reply anything, Knox said, “See
ya,” and disappeared.

* * * * *

39: Never Bet Your Money

ON ANOTHER MAN’S GAME

Vanessa awoke with a start, her eyes popping open to
the pitch black of a drizzly Ozark autumn night.

There.

Thudding knocks on her front door.

She scowled and looked at her clock. Two. Strange.
Usually her phone rang, but the inn was nearly empty, the permanent
residents fended for themselves, and the night concierge wouldn’t
wake her up unless it was something she couldn’t handle herself.
Then it did ring—with the ringtone Vanessa hadn’t heard in months
and had never thought to hear again.

She rolled out of bed and ran down the stairs,
wrapping her winter robe around her.

“Eric,” she whispered when she opened the door and
saw his silhouette there on her porch.

“It’s cold out here, Vanessa,” he said, his wry tone
heavily laced with fatigue. Startled into action, she moved out of
his way enough for him enter. He had a duffle bag over one shoulder
and a garment bag over the other. In the light of the small fire on
the hearth, she watched him put his phone on the counter, drop his
duffle on the kitchenette tiles, and hang his garment bag on a
cabinet knob. He bent to rummage in the mini-fridge and retrieved a
bottle of exotic beer before crossing the room and dropping into
the club chair in front of the fire.

“Siddown,” he muttered. “We need to talk.”

She looked at the garment bag and back at him, where
he lounged in the chair and stared at the fire, his long legs
stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

Too shocked, tired—
confused
—to think, much
less protest, she sat in the other chair.

“You and I,” he said, then took a long pull on his
beer, “are going to a big bipartisan shindig for the governor’s
birthday tomorrow night in Jeff City. Black tie. I know you have a
dozen evening dresses, so don’t try to use that as an excuse.”

Vanessa studied his muscular body. Remembered how it
felt.

Here he was, unexpected and uninvited and far too
welcome, ordering her around—again—and not only did she not
protest, she had no desire to.