Lone Rider. B.J. Daniels

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       CHAPTER THREE

      SENATOR BUCKMASTER HAMILTON stood at the front window of his ranch house, stewing. He’d been either in Washington or on the road off and on since January with the presidential campaign, surrounded by staff, volunteers, donors and reporters with cameras in his face. When he’d finally escaped and come home to the ranch, he’d hoped for a little privacy.

      But once the news of his first wife’s miraculous return from the dead had hit the local newspaper, the story had gone viral. Reporters had begun calling the house and then showing up on the ranch with cameras and news vans.

      He’d thought it would have died down after almost four months. But if anything, with his campaign going well, the media seemed even more bloodthirsty for dirt on his family—let alone photographs of Sarah. Everyone wanted to know where she’d been and if her alleged memory loss was real.

      No one wanted to know more than he did. His “dead” wife’s return had turned his life upside down since he’d remarried fifteen years ago. He was just thankful that of his six daughters, five of them were away from the ranch and doing their best to keep out of the limelight.

      “You really should eat some breakfast,” Angelina Broadwater Hamilton said as she came into the living room with two cups of coffee. His wife handed one to him and sat down with hers.

      Sarah’s return had brought out the worst in Angelina. But everything else that had gone on didn’t seem to bother her in the least. It amazed him how she could apparently push all the unpleasantness of her brother’s arrest and suicide away and not give it another thought. He wondered if it was an act. The same way she pretended nothing had changed in their marriage since Sarah had come back.

      Angelina hadn’t mentioned her brother’s name since his arrest and suicide. Nor had she seemed to mourn his death, shedding only a few photo-op tears at his funeral. Lane Broadwater had been Buckmaster’s campaign manager when he’d run for the Senate. When Lane was arrested for killing the man who’d been blackmailing Angelina for years, all Angelina had said was—“There’s more to the story than you know.”

      There always was with Angelina. Buckmaster had married her after spending seven years mourning his first wife’s death. Sarah’s car had gone into the Yellowstone River one winter night twenty-two years ago, her body never found.

      He’d married Angelina for her name and her society upbringing to help him with his political career. She and her brother had been a godsend in so many ways. Not only had they helped him win the Senate race, but also they’d put him in a position where the presidency was his if he wanted it.

      And he wanted it.

      Or at least, he had until his first wife had come back from the dead.

      Sarah swore that she didn’t remember anything about the past twenty-two years or her attempted suicide before she’d disappeared. Her last memory, according to her, was giving birth to the twins. Harper and Cassidy were now both recent college graduates.

      Sarah’s untimely return—right after he had thrown his hat in the presidential ring—had changed everything, especially between him and Angelina. For months they’d argued about him staying in the running for president. It had been his daughters who had talked him into continuing.

      He’d thought for sure that Sarah’s return and the story of her suicide attempt would have ruined any chances he had to get elected. But in a surprising turn of events, just the opposite had happened. The voting public were sympathetic to his dilemma. Even the press had cut him some slack.

      Angelina took a sip of her coffee, studying him over the rim of her cup. “I suppose you’re going to see Sarah now that we’re back.”

      “I’m not going anywhere right now,” he said. “And I don’t want to argue.”

      “It would just be nice if you would tell me when you were going to see her,” Angelina said.

      Nice? Who was she kidding? She didn’t understand that even if Sarah was no longer legally his wife, he still felt responsible for her. She was the mother of his six daughters.

      He stepped to the window. Several news vans and one older-model black pickup were parked out by the gate. Every time he left the house, they followed him. The cowboy in the older-model black truck had tailed him several times when he’d gone to meet Sarah, but he’d managed to lose the guy.

      “I assume Sarah is still hiding out from the press?” Angelina asked.

      “They are determined to find out why she came back now, where she’s been and what happens next.”

      Angelina raised a brow as if those were questions she wanted answered, as well. “Why don’t you leak it to the press where she is and get it over with?”

      “Because I don’t know where she is,” he snapped, and saw her satisfied look.

      It galled him that Sarah was staying with the rancher who’d found her the day she’d reappeared in nearby Beartooth. Russell Murdock had been driving along one of the narrow dirt roads just past the cemetery in the middle of nowhere when Sarah had apparently stepped out of the trees. She’d been scraped up and disoriented with no idea how she’d gotten there or where she’d been.

      At least, that was her story. Angelina didn’t buy it for a minute. She argued that Sarah was faking it and had only returned to ruin his chances of becoming president. He didn’t know what he believed. Sarah had been the love of his life. He’d had six beautiful daughters with her. It had almost killed him when he thought she’d taken her life that night in the river. Then she’d come back from the dead, proving that she could break his heart all over again.

      “I’m sure that once they find out where Sarah is staying, they will talk to her,” Angelina said. “Maybe she’ll start saying something that makes sense.” She didn’t sound the least bit sympathetic. She didn’t seem to understand that Sarah’s return had made him question everything about his life, maybe especially his marriage to Angelina and his run for president.

      For him, a whole lot of things had changed. What was strange was that he’d sensed it coming. Worse, the darkness he’d felt on the horizon hadn’t dissipated with Sarah’s return from the grave. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something even darker loomed over them all.

      “Now more than ever, we need a show of solidarity,” he said, not for the first time. Angelina’s jealousy had brought out a nasty СКАЧАТЬ