Lucky Shot. B.J. Daniels

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      “Really?” Angelina asked suspiciously. “She told you this?” Her tone couldn’t have called Sarah a liar any clearer than if she’d said the word. “So she’s leaving Montana?”

      He braced himself. “No, she’s getting married. She and Russell Murdock will be announcing their engagement soon.”

      To his shock, Angelina’s face went taut with fury. Her blue eyes narrowed dangerously, and she let out a very un-First-Lady-like curse. “The conniving bitch. And you believed her?” She stormed over to the window, only to swing back around. “So that explains the way you’ve been acting. How long have you known this?”

      He thought he’d been hiding his feelings well. Apparently not. “For a couple of months.”

      “But you never said anything.”

      He simply stood there, looking guilty and wishing they didn’t have to ever talk about Sarah again.

      “You actually believed her. Of course you did. Just as she knew you would. Buckmaster, you can’t be that naive. Don’t you see what she’s trying to do? She’s playing you.”

      “I don’t see how marrying Russell—”

      “She’s never going to marry Russell Murdock,” she snapped with a wave of her arm.

      He hated the surge of hope he felt at her words. He quickly squashed it because it was only a matter of time before Sarah remarried. He couldn’t expect her to sit around waiting for him to...to what? Angelina was his wife now, his future, his only hope if he wanted to win this election.

      While it shouldn’t matter whether a candidate was married, single or divorced, or had a mistress, it did when it came to the voting public. So much had already been made of Sarah’s return from the grave. If he left Angelina for her...

      “She’s trying to force your hand,” Angelina said, sounding sad that he could be so easily fooled. “She wants you to choose her over me. Why else would she just happen to mention this before you left on the campaign? And let me guess, she’s waiting to announce it to the world, right? Giving you some time.”

      “Yes, but only because I asked her to wait,” he said with a sigh. “I’m afraid this is going to upset our daughters, so I asked her to wait until I came home again.”

      She cocked her head at him. “Why would it upset the girls? They don’t even know her. Why would they care who she marries? She was just giving you time to let it sink in, so you will try to stop her.”

      He shook his head. “You give her too much credit. She doesn’t sit around plotting like...”

      “Like me?”

      He raked a hand through his graying hair. Nothing he could say would make this situation better. Wasn’t that why he’d waited as long as he could before telling her?

      “Sarah wants to destroy you. Destroy your career.”

      “You’re wrong. She thinks marrying Russell will help me.”

      Angelina laughed. “So she’s really just doing this for you. Seriously, Buckmaster, you bought that?”

      “Away from me, the press will forget about her. All the focus will be on the campaign instead of the three of us. Sarah will be forgotten like any other former wife.”

      “What a martyr she is,” Angelina said, her words as tart as vinegar.

      “She cares about Russell. She trusts him, and I think he cares about her.”

      “Always the saint, that Sarah, huh?” She moved away as if trying to hide her anger, but her body had gone rigid with her rage.

      That’s why he was surprised when she turned back, and this time, he saw tears. She’d always been so strong, so self-assured. His daughters called her the Ice Queen. But since Sarah’s return... “Angelina,” he said, stepping toward her.

      She took a step back and shook her head. “If you choose her, you’ll lose the election.”

      He swore. “It isn’t always about the damned election.” He dropped his arms and started to turn away.

      “Don’t you think we should discuss this?” she demanded of his back.

      “I thought we just did,” he said and kept walking.

      * * *

      MAX HAD WANTED to ask the elderly lady in the coffee shop if she recognized the photographs he’d taken of the woman he believed to be Sarah Hamilton. He just needed a simple verification. He already knew it was Sarah, but he hadn’t become the journalist he was by assuming anything.

      He couldn’t have asked the woman, though, without blowing his cover. Not to mention, she probably wouldn’t have helped him anyway. He’d seen her expression when she’d asked him if he was a reporter. He had a feeling that she wouldn’t have talked to him if he’d admitted it.

      Fortunately, he’d managed to get her talking—it usually wasn’t hard to get people to open up in small towns—and she’d told him about Kat Hamilton.

      He went back to his computer and searched for a Kat Hamilton, photographer. He found her website and let out a low whistle as he studied the self-portrait photo she’d taken of herself. She didn’t look terribly approachable. Her long dark hair was tightly pulled back from her face and wound into a knot at the base of her neck. Her piercing gray eyes looked into the camera as if in challenge. Everything about her told him she was a difficult woman and one he should probably stay away from.

      While he seldom took his own good advice, he might have this time if he hadn’t seen that she was going to be having a one-woman exhibit at a gallery in Bozeman. Feeling the need to verify that the blonde he’d photographed was indeed Sarah Hamilton before he tried to sell the shots, he headed for Bozeman.

      The gallery was on Main Street in a narrow building with old brick walls and lots of spot lighting. The moment he walked in, the owner came out of the back.

      “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” she asked.

      “I understand Kat Hamilton will have an exhibit here soon?”

      She instantly looked wary.

      “I saw one of her photos.” He described one he’d seen on her website. “I was interested in buying it.”

      The shop owner seemed to relax a little. Bozeman, because of the university there, had an almost Bohemian feel to it. So he fit right in, even looking as he did. “We don’t have that particular one here...” She led him over to a black-and-white photo taken in a rainstorm. Max knew enough about photography to realize the moment he saw the photo that it was nothing short of amazing.

      “You like it?” she asked, even though she’d clearly seen his reaction.

      “I love it. I can’t wait to see more of her work. That’s an incredible photograph. I do a little shooting myself. I’d love to pick her brain as to how I can improve my photos, but I’m sure she gets a lot of that.”

      “She’ll СКАЧАТЬ