All They Ever Wanted (3 page)

“Sure, I'll take a big needle and some Botox.” Patricia glanced up at her daughter's startled face. “Or any other magic potion that will make me look younger and more attractive.”

“Mom, what are you talking about?”

Patricia looked away from Kate and focused her gaze on the garden outside the window. It was no use; her daughter wouldn't understand. “Never mind.”

“No,” Kate insisted. “Not ‘never mind.' Tell me what's going on.”

“Isn't it obvious?” Patricia waved a hand over her ravaged body, still painful and bruised. “I'm broken and helpless here. It's not like I was some spring chicken before the accident.”

“Wait. Is this about Lamar?”

She sighed in exasperation at her daughter. “Of course it's about Lamar.”

Lamar
was Lamar Hollister, sheriff of Chances Inlet, and as of a few weeks ago, Patricia's fiancé. She still couldn't for the life of her believe her good fortune at having attracted the rugged ex-soldier's attention in the first place, much less his heart. Patricia was a widow in her late fifties—a grandmother no less—but the younger man didn't seem to mind one bit. He was dependable, kind, and doting to a fault, and Patricia just knew she'd struck relationship gold a second time in her life.

But she couldn't help thinking that the sheriff might be having second thoughts. Her frailty after a broken hip had to be a stark reminder of their age difference, not to mention what the future held. Lamar had been distracted and more stoic than usual since the accident. Patricia needed to get back on her feet as much for her relationship with the sheriff as she did for her beloved inn.

“Lamar will do anything to see you get better.” Kate likely intended her words to be placating but they riled Patricia up even more.

“Of course he will. Who wants to be stuck with a decrepit fiancée?”

Kate sank down on the bed across from Patricia. “Oh, Mom, he doesn't feel that way. I'm sure of it. He loves you. If you could see the way he looks at you when you're not paying attention.” Her daughter's face softened. “It's really sweet.”

“I've got news for you, Kate, ‘sweet' isn't what a man like Lamar has in mind when he looks at me. Your brothers aren't the only virile men in Chances Inlet, if you catch my drift.”

Her daughter had the good grace to blush. “Oh. Oh . . . well,” she stammered. “Uh, I can see . . . um, where you might have some concerns in that area.”

“Do you?” Patricia waved her hand over the length of her body once again. “Because healing is apparently going to be
a marathon and not a sprint
.”

Kate dissolved into giggles. “Oh my gosh, I think I've actually used that phrase with Alden in a very different context within our bedroom.”

Patricia groaned. “I can't believe we're having this conversation. I blame the pain meds.”

Her daughter laughed even harder. “Oh, Mom, you have no idea how much I love and admire you. You're the strongest woman I know. And Lamar loves you, too. No matter what. You'll see. You're worrying about nothing.” She glanced at her watch. “I've got to pick Emily up. Gavin is supposed to be watching her, but knowing him, she's running free-range around town.” Kate leaned down and kissed Patricia on the cheek. “Everything is going to work out. You'll see.”

Patricia let her eyelids fall again, allowing the pain medicine to lull her into a catnap, hoping that when she awoke, things would look very different.

“D
o you think she's really serious about a write-in campaign?” Gavin asked as he repetitively tossed a red rubber ball against the wall of the small back room in Miles' campaign headquarters. The suite of offices was housed in the refurbished old torpedo factory on Chances Inlet's Main Street. McAlister Construction and Engineering had been located in the same space for nearly thirty years. Miles remembered his father building out pieces of the large warehouse, bit by bit, as money became available. The torpedo factory was also home to the Tiny Dancers ballet studio across the hall, as well as his brother Gavin, who lived in the loft space above.

It was Sunday afternoon and the office was blissfully quiet except for the sound of the rubber slapping against the brick, making Miles' head ache. He paused in his pacing of the worn pine floor and snatched the ball out of the air before Gavin could catch it, squeezing it tightly between his fingers.

“Hey!” Gavin complained when Miles tossed the ball out into the hallway that linked the offices to the ballet studio across the hall. Gavin's dog, Midas, scampered wildly after it, his nails screeching on the concrete.

“Oh, she's serious all right. She's already got a website up and running, not to mention over four thousand likes on her campaign's Facebook page. And it's only been live for two hours.” Coy barely glanced up from the two laptops he had spread out on the coffee table while he answered Gavin's question.

“Wow.” Gavin wrestled with Midas, trying to pull the ball from the dog's mouth. “It sounds like The GTO Grandma is
revving up
for the race.”

Miles reflexively smacked the back of his brother's head when he paced by him, making Gavin chuckle even harder.

“Dude, you've got to find the humor in this somehow.”

“Politics is serious business, Gavin,” Coy shot back. “Especially if we want to win.”

“Aww, come on.” Gavin tossed the ball again and Midas chased after it. “She doesn't actually stand a chance, does she?”

Miles paused in his pacing to glance out the window at the town where he'd lived most of his life. A town he'd always dreamed of representing in Congress. He sighed in frustration. It had all sounded so easy when he was a fifth grader.

“Of course she has a chance,” Coy said from behind him. “The opposing party may not get to put their own candidate on the ballot, but they can certainly redirect their volunteers and donors to Faye's campaign. Tanya Sheppard and the rest of the media will try to make Faye's movement sound like a grass-roots effort, but hers will be a highly orchestrated—not to mention well-funded—campaign.”

Miles slumped into the chair that had once belonged to his father, settling his body against the familiar creased and worn leather. “We had enough money to run against that idiot Brian Kendrick, don't tell me we have to worry about fund-raising again?” Begging for contributions was Miles' least favorite aspect of campaigning. There was something about it that made him feel bought and paid for.

Coy tucked his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder. “You can never have enough money in politics.”

“So how hard can it be to raise some more cash? Just play on the stud factor,” his brother teased. “Post some tweets or
videos of you running shirtless in a triathlon and sit back and watch the money roll in. Women love your body, man.”

Miles flipped his brother off just as their sister Kate walked in, her daughter Emily in tow. “Oh, that's a fine picture for a campaign ad,” she scoffed. “And you're one to taunt, Gavin. I seem to recall you pimping your dimpled smile all over the home improvement channels a few months ago just to raise money to pay off Dad's debt.”

Gavin tilted the chair he was sitting in onto its back legs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hey, it almost worked. And I did get a nice consolation prize in a gorgeous woman.” He grinned like a fool.

“I'll be sure and tell Ginger you think she's a consolation prize,” Kate said, allowing Emily to slip out of her grasp. The six-year-old was draped in pieces of costumes presumably commandeered from the ballet studio. She wedged herself between Miles' chair and the desk before scouring through the contents in the top drawer. Miles ran his hand over the wavy, soft, mahogany hair on his niece's head, breathing in a familiar scent, as the child pulled out a paper clip and began to form it into the shape of a ring.

“Did you take a bath in your grandmother's perfume?” he asked.

Emily giggled. “No, silly. I used the lotion at the inn.”

Kate arched an eyebrow at Gavin. “You were supposed to be watching her, not letting her riffle through all the gift baskets meant for Mom's guests.”

“Emily, are you still alive?” Gavin asked. “Do you still have all your fingers and your toes? Your teeth?” Gavin's words sounded so much like something their late father would say when he was tasked with keeping an eye on the flighty youngest McAlister sibling, Elle, that Miles' chest seized for a moment.

Emily giggled at the familiar line of questioning from her uncle. “Yes, sir.”

Gavin shrugged. “See? No harm, no foul.”

Kate smacked their brother on the shoulder before taking the seat next to Coy on the sofa. The younger man turned his back to her and continued to murmur into the phone. Kate shot
a wide-eyed look of wonder at Miles before rolling her eyes at Coy's demeanor. “So, I assume we're coming up with a new strategy here?”

Miles bit back an aggravated groan. There was no “we” in his strategizing. As grateful as he was that his annoying siblings wanted to help, Miles needed a few minutes alone to think and regroup. He hadn't had that since Tanya dropped her bombshell earlier that day. His messages to the governor had gone unanswered, making him a bit uneasy. Tanya's slant on Miles' leave of absence had been way off base; the governor had Miles' back both personally and in the campaign. Still, it would have been nice to have some confirmation of that publicly before the interview aired. He needed to get everyone out of his office and get his boss on the line for some one-on-one planning.

“Yes, Governor, I'll tell him,” he heard Coy say into his phone, the younger man's words immediately snapping Miles to attention.

What the hell?
Was the governor talking to the little pipsqueak legacy instead of returning Miles' calls? The throbbing in his temples became a jackhammer. “Were you talking to Governor Rossi?” Miles managed to ask when Coy began packing up his laptops.

The kid had the decency to blush slightly while he shoved the computers into a backpack. “Yes. He said to tell you he'll call you at eight tonight. We're working on a plan and some new platforms that will better help us to defeat Faye Rich in a head-to-head election.”

“
We
are working on a plan?” Miles tamped down on his rapidly escalating annoyance. “Don't you think I should be a part of that process, Coy?” The question was better directed at the governor and the rest of the party staff; Coy was simply the mouthpiece. Still, Miles needed someone to lash out at. Coy might as well learn to take the heat early in his career.

“Um, yeah, of course,” he said sheepishly. “I think everyone else wants to present it to you when they have all the kinks worked out.”

The dog's panting was the only sound in the room for
several long seconds. Miles scrubbed a hand down his face. Taking out his frustrations on Coy wouldn't solve anything. Besides, once he spoke directly with Governor Rossi, he was sure they'd assign him a new campaign manager immediately. Coy would likely be gone by morning.

“Makes sense.” Miles pushed the words out even though nothing about this day made a lick of sense.

Coy nodded and pulled his backpack onto his shoulder. “I'm just going to head back to the inn, where it's a bit quieter, and make a few calls. I'll meet you back here at eight?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Miles said and waved the younger man toward the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his sister exchange a worried glance with Gavin. The last thing he wanted was those two feeling sorry for him. Miles wasn't conceding the damn race yet. Not by a long shot.

“Don't you have some tourist's sunburn to treat?” he asked his sister.

She wrinkled her nose up at him. “Funny. The clinic closed an hour ago. Em and I are on our way out to dinner with Alden and some friends. Would you like to join us?”

Ah, a pity peace-offering from his sister. Just what Miles needed to end this shitty day. “No, thanks. I've got a lot to do here.” Which was a huge lie, but he really wanted to pace the floor in private, if possible.

She looked as though she knew he was lying, but thankfully, she didn't push him any further. “I spoke with Mom's doctors,” she said as she stood up from the sofa and ran a hand over the wrinkles in her dress. “They're going to release her tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Well, that works out conveniently,” Gavin said to Miles. “You'll likely need to appear at more events now. Mom can start to ease back into taking over the inn, giving you more time to campaign.”

“Mom isn't ‘easing back' into anything right away,” Kate interjected. “She's still got a long way to go in the healing process. We can't encourage her to get ahead of herself.” She pointed a finger at Miles. “But you can leave most of the
day-to-day running of the inn to Lori. Stop harassing her about every little thing and let her do her job. Mom can supervise from the carriage house.”

Miles didn't like the idea of relinquishing control to a woman whose background he knew very little about, but his brother was right; he'd need to hit the campaign trail hard to keep Faye from creeping up in the polls. He'd have to cut Lori some slack if he wanted to make this work. But that didn't mean he'd give her free rein of the B and B. He needed a few questions answered before he'd do that. Not that his bossy sister needed to know his intentions.

“Fine.”

Kate narrowed her eyes at his acquiescence. “Just like that? Fine?” She blew out a breath. “Wow. You must be feeling the sting of Faye's announcement. But I'm going to hold you to that. And both of you are going to help me keep Mom from overdoing it. Her emotional state is a little fragile right now, and I don't want her to suffer a setback because of it.”

Gavin slammed his chair back onto the floor as both he and Miles went on alert. “What do you mean, she's ‘fragile'?” Gavin asked.

Their mother was the toughest woman any of them knew. She'd spawned Kate, after all. Not only that, but she'd survived the sudden loss of her husband while still managing to make her inn prosper, cultivating and maintaining the highest rating her B and B could earn. Even her accident could have been a lot worse had it not been for her iron will. The last word Miles would use to describe his mother was “fragile.”

“Is there something you're not telling us about her health?” Miles demanded.

Kate waved a hand as she tugged Emily away from the desk. His niece quietly had taken every paper clip from the drawer and formed a long necklace, which she promptly draped around her neck. “Not her physical health, per se,” his sister said. “More like her”—she covered her daughter's ears—“sexual health.”

Miles felt as if his head had finally exploded. Gavin was plugging his own ears up with his fingers. “La, la, la,” his brother chanted. “TMI, Kate.
T.M.I!
”

“Oh, boys, don't be such prudes. Our mother is engaged to a hot younger man who has needs. Get over it. A broken hip is an obstacle they need to work around. But, hey, where there's a will, there's a way.”

Gavin was banging his forehead on the desk now while Miles tried unsuccessfully to rid his mind of the image of his mother and the sheriff practicing moves from the Kama Sutra. “Go to dinner, Kate,” he breathed, trying to calm his queasy stomach. “You've just ruined ours.”

With a gay laugh, his sister waltzed out the door, Emily skipping beside her.

“We should have let her run away when she was nine,” Gavin mumbled, his forehead still resting on the desk.

“Hey, I packed a bag for her,” Miles replied. “It was Dad who went after her and coaxed her to come back. I was mad at him for at least a month.”

Gavin stood up and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Well, if the sheriff breaks her heart, he'd better sleep with his gun tucked under his pillow. That's all I've got to say.”

“If the sheriff breaks whose heart?”

A dopey grin overtook his brother's face at the sight of his girlfriend, Ginger Walsh, standing in the doorway. Petite and blond with unusual green eyes, she was wearing an intimate smile of her own. Gavin reached out and pulled her against his chest, capturing her lips in a scorching kiss.

“Hello, you two! Midas and I are getting grossed out here,” Miles said after a few moments passed. “I'd tell you to get a room, but you have one just up those steps,” he added. “How about you run along and take advantage of that, hmm?”