“I have the drive.”

“Used to,” Rosie corrected him.

“I’m very driven. And I have lots of friends who find me intriguing.” Hudson hadn’t meant to let Rosie get to him.

“I call them as I see them.” Her voice was flat, as if she thought Hud’s political career wasn’t worth arguing about.

“And you know this by reading my file?” She didn’t know him at all. “Maybe there are things that aren’t in my file that might make you feel differently.”

“I’ve been trained to be a judge of what works and what sells in the system. It’s my professional opinion, nothing more.”

Rosie DeWitt didn’t know it yet, but her professional opinion was about to change.

Dear Reader,

I was excited to be included in the SINGLES…WITH KIDS miniseries. Having spent sixteen years as a working mom in the corporate world, I had a lot of history to draw upon, including that all-important network of other working moms who keep you sane. More important, I’d had these characters lurking in the recesses of my brain— Rosie and Hud, two driven, type A personalities who were used to being in the driver’s seat and were craving a book of their own. It’s a power struggle from the get-go and one neither intends to lose.

Only, these two didn’t count on sparks flying from the moment they shake hands. Or the way falling in love necessitates revealing the best-kept secrets.

I hope you enjoy Rosie and Hud’s story. I love to hear from readers, either through my Web site, www.MelindaCurtis.com, or through regular mail at P.O. Box 150, Denair, CA 95316.

Happy reading!

Melinda

The Best-Kept Secret
Melinda Curtis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Melinda Curtis lives in Northern California with her husband, three kids, two Labradors, two cats and a circle of friendly neighbors who eagerly weigh in on everything from the best way to cut your lawn to the best haircut for a fourth grader—just what good friends are for!

To my family, who understand what it means

to have a working mom who might forget

dentist appointments, singes the garlic bread

and misplaces PE clothes. Your wit, eye rolls and

unconditional love keep me going.

And to Thelma, who taught me about blended

families, forgiveness and stuffing a bra.

You will be missed.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

“I NEED YOU TO DO something for me.” A small favor. A phone call. Still, it went against Hudson McCloud’s grain to ask anyone for help. It came down to this: swallow his pride and ask his mother for help…or wait. And Hud was done waiting.

“What is it?” Vivian McCloud turned from the skyscraper’s view of the turbulent waters of San Francisco Bay and the few sailboats that braved the post-Christmas Pacific Ocean tides. His mother had once been full of life, but the events of the past ten years had taken their toll.

And Hud was partially to blame.

He couldn’t turn back the clock and prevent the mistakes and losses he’d suffered from happening, but after two years of biding his time there was finally a chance he could restore his family’s honor.

Hud crossed the Oriental carpet in his mother’s office to the cabinet that held the TV and filled the room with a sound he had come to loathe—a newscast.

“…sad news for the city. San Francisco’s mayor was about to deliver a speech on the steps of city hall when he suffered a brain aneurism. The mayor was rushed to USF Medical Center and pronounced dead at ten a.m.”

Hud was silent as his mother came to stand next to him. As a young senator’s wife, she’d been a protégé of Jackie Kennedy both in politics and fashion. Despite her silver hair, she was still a striking presence in her classic suit and pearls. Her influence as the widow of a fifth-generation U.S. senator stretched across both parties, but it was a power she rarely used.

There was a long silence between them, as the news changed to the weather. She had to know what Hud wanted and how important it was to him, to the McCloud legacy.

When his mother didn’t speak, Hud smoothed his tie, cleared his throat and said quietly, “This is just what I’ve been looking for.”

His mother gave him a sharp look. “Another chance for you to be hurt?”

“It’s what I want.” It’s what he had to do. Hud muted the volume. He’d turned out to be the screwup in the McCloud family, not Samuel. How in the hell had that happened?

“You excel at running McCloud Inc. Any other man would try to be satisfied with the way things turned out.”

“But not a McCloud.” McClouds didn’t give up. His father had taught him that, along with duty before personal goals.

She sighed heavily. They both knew Hudson had sacrificed his own dreams for the sake of the family.

“I know the public thinks I failed.” These last words came out gruffly despite Hud’s resolve not to care what anyone else thought. He cleared his throat again. “But I can make it right this time.” Hud wanted his mother to be able to hold her head up once more, wanted to hear her laugh with unbridled joy rather than polite response.

“Mayor of San Francisco? The party would be foolish to consider you.”

And Hud was a fool to believe he had a chance. Still, he had one card left to play. “They won’t turn me down if you ask them. No one refuses Vivian McCloud.”

“ROSIE, YOU HAVE two calls waiting.” Rosie DeWitt’s assistant, Marsha, stuck her head in Rosie’s office. “Line one is Walter O’Connell.”

Just hours after the mayor’s death, the news media and political world was in a frenzy over who was going to run in the election to replace him. Since Rosie was one of Walter’s political strategists, he probably wanted her opinion. He might even want her to run the campaign for the Democratic candidate.

“Line two is Casey’s day care.”

Anxiety pulsed through Rosie’s veins. She set down her coffee and quickly pushed the button for line two. “Is Casey okay?”

“He’s fine, Ms. DeWitt.” Rosie recognized the voice of Rainbow Day Care’s principal, Ms. Phan. Casey attended the Rainbow center after school and during the holidays. “I just wanted to make sure we get our school play on your calendar in late January.”

Ouch. She’d missed the last play when Walter had asked Rosie to accompany him to Washington to evaluate several candidates for office. She glanced at a photo of her and Casey from last summer. Heads close, they had the same black curly hair, dark brown eyes and energetic grins. Was she letting him down as Ms. Phan always seemed to imply? Sometimes Rosie felt as if she were trying to sail the SS Motherhood beneath the Golden Gate Bridge without a working rudder. No matter how hard she tried to be a good mother, life seemed to conspire against her.

Rosie dutifully penciled the play on her calendar and assured Ms. Phan she’d be there this time.

“And I’m sure you won’t be late tonight to pick up Casey. It is New Year’s Eve, after all,” Ms. Phan added. “Once parents begin picking up their children Casey becomes a clock watcher.”

To her credit, Rosie didn’t snap a pencil or a sharp retort. She did, however, reach for her coffee. Just holding the warm ceramic mug settled her nerves.

Planning strategy, drafting legislation and writing speeches for candidates and incumbents often meant Rosie was late to pick up her kindergartener. She’d learned to leave money in her budget for the late fees she incurred from Rainbow on a weekly basis. What she hadn’t completely mastered was the art of filtering all the advice she received about parenting without taking offense or feeling as if she and Casey needed to go to counseling. They were doing the best they could.

Rosie told Ms. Phan she’d be there before five o’clock closing, then paused to take a sip of coffee before she shifted back to professional mode.

Pressing the button for line one took her to California’s power player. “Walter, how are you?” She caught the dinosaur Democrat in midcough. He was currently serving as the chairman of the Democratic Party for California. With Walter’s approval—and increasingly Rosie’s—candidates were groomed by the party for various positions throughout the state.

“A day short of the grave, as usual. Can’t seem to shake this cough,” he grumbled. “How’s it feel to be a backup singer for Senator Alsace?”

“I’m just biding my time until the next political race.”

“Ha! Your search for the right candidate is over. Win this one and you can write your own ticket.”

“You’re going to run for office?” Even as Rosie joked, she was intrigued. Deals were how the American political system worked and how those involved got ahead.

Walter chuckled, a gruff sound that dissolved into another fit of coughing. “Perhaps you’ve noticed that San Francisco needs a new mayor.”

“There’s an opening for a squeaky clean candidate with aspirations of glory.” Rosie fidgeted in her seat, excited by the prospect of something new. “Who did you have in mind?”

“You win this one, Rosie, and you’ll have a spot on the presidential campaign.”

She’d dreamed of working on a presidential campaign since she was a kid. “Who?”

“Hudson McCloud.”

Rosie looked at the picture of her son again. The McClouds were the California equivalent of the Kennedys. Media followed their every step. Anyone who worked for the McClouds would receive the same scrutiny, and Rosie was fiercely protective of her privacy. She had to turn Walter down.

And yet, part of her yearned for the challenge. Pundits had dismissed Hudson McCloud’s career. The campaign would make national news and, possibly, a strategist’s career, as well. She would just have to work that much harder at keeping her professional life separate from her life with Casey.

“Rosie? Rosie, don’t play games with me. You won’t get another chance like this anytime soon.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Had Walter lost his mind? Had she? Rosie couldn’t quell her curiosity. “Why me?”

“Because you excel at advancing the underdog. Because you don’t sugarcoat things.” Walter coughed. “And because Vivian McCloud requested you.”

HUD SAT AT WHAT HAD once been his father’s desk, in what had once been his father’s chair, and perused a file of faded newspaper clippings by the light of a small desk lamp. Usually, his Queen Anne home, built after the 1906 quake, was never quiet. It groaned and shifted like a living thing. Tonight though, as if sensing Hud’s somber mood, not a board in the one-hundred-year-old house dared creak.

Tomorrow he’d find out if the party considered him salvageable. He’d left the string-pulling to his mother once she’d agreed to inquire about the Democratic leadership’s feelings toward him. But he had no idea who or what he’d face tomorrow. Would they welcome him back or challenge his interest in running?

Hud read the headlines of the articles he kept to remind him why he’d turned his back on his personal goals in the first place.

Hudson McCloud Flexes Power on First Day in Senate.

McCloud Accused of Conflict of Interest on Child Labor Bill.

Questions Increase, McCloud Influence Disappears.

Another Bill by Senator McCloud Crushed.

McCloud Stepping Down from Senate.

Who was Hud kidding? He may have saved McCloud Inc., the clothing conglomerate his great, great grandfather had founded, and their employees from ruin, but he’d done so at the sacrifice of his own career, tarnishing the family reputation in the process. The party wanted untouchable candidates who could influence policy. Hud’s political power no longer existed. He’d best remember that and not get his hopes up about what tomorrow’s meeting might bring.

SOMETHING SMELLED good enough to get out of bed for.

“I smell morning,” Casey whispered from the other side of the bed. Sometime during the night, he’d padded into her bedroom complaining of a bad dream that only a dog or a little brother could protect him from.

Eyes still shut, Rosie rolled over and drank in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It was Friday. One more day until the weekend. An easy day. Casey was still on holiday from kindergarten.

No! She sat up and her head spun. It was the Friday, the day of her audience with Vivian McCloud. Rosie scrambled out of bed full of regret over agreeing to go in the first place. She was meeting Walter for breakfast at nine before their appointment at the Pyramid Center at eleven.

“Wake up, Case! We can’t be late today.”

Rosie dreaded what she had to do, but what choice did she have? To turn down Vivian McCloud outright was political suicide. So Rosie had done her homework. She had all the ammunition she needed to sink Hudson’s political aspirations. Walter would find someone more suitable for the race and the tension that had been sitting in Rosie’s stomach since Walter’s call would disappear.

The next hour was a blur of activity in between gulps of hazelnut-flavored coffee and making sure Casey ate all his cereal. There was a small ceremonial moment—a lull in the morning chaos—as Rosie unwrapped a pair of new Jimmy Choo pumps. They’d been incredibly expensive but when she’d seen them at lunch on Wednesday, she knew she had to have them, so she’d used the money her parents sent her for Christmas. This morning they felt like success as she slipped them on her feet.

One last perusal in the mirror confirmed her springy curls were still half-tamed, pulled back from her face and anchored simply by a clip just below her crown, and her clothes lacked major wrinkles or stains. Rosie loved the way her midnight-blue pantsuit projected confidence with a feminine touch provided by long, slightly belled sleeves.

Less than an hour after bolting from bed, keys jingling in one hand, her briefcase, umbrella and raincoat slung over her other arm, she was ready to leave.

“Case, let’s go.”

“Mommy, I can’t go to day care today ’cause I don’t have any shoes that match.” He lifted his pants legs to show a sneaker on one foot and a sock with a hole in the toe on the other. “It’s only a short day anyway.”

Rosie slid out of her heels, dropped her briefcase to the floor, tossed her raincoat and umbrella onto a kitchen chair and made a mad dash around their crowded apartment to find a match for a blue-and-red Spider-Man tennis shoe.

“Not by the door. Not in the kitchen. Not in the bathroom.” Rosie could feel herself starting to get sweaty. Could she send Casey in sandals? Unfortunately, no. The weatherman had predicted rain.

“Here it is,” Casey singsonged. “It was under the couch cushion.”

“What was it doing in there?” Rosie asked, setting a record for speedy shoe tying. She stuffed her feet back into her shoes, grabbed her briefcase and Casey’s hand, and then they were out the door.

Rosie tugged Casey along as fast as she could, down the stairs past Chin-Chin’s Pizzeria and Noodle House, spicy scents already wafting in the air, and along the familiar two-block walk to Rainbow Day Care. The wind swirled about them on the sidewalk and a glance up revealed heavy, gray clouds.

Predictably, the faster she tried to walk, the slower Casey became. “Mommy, can I have hot chocolate?”

Rosie glanced at her watch. “No.” At this rate, she’d miss the bus.

“I’m hungry. Can we stop at McDonald’s?”

“No, honey. You ate breakfast already.” Rosie tried to at least appear as if she wasn’t running a race, recognizing that Casey didn’t want to be hustled off.

“Mommy, you forgot your coat and umbrella,” Casey scolded her when they arrived at Rainbow Day Care. “Take mine.” Casey dug his Spider-Man umbrella out of his cluttered cubby.

“I’m sure I won’t need it.” Rosie dismissed the dark clouds outside. The city had only been getting intermittent showers as they blew over toward the peninsula. Besides, anything with Spider-Man was precious to her son. What if the wind blew it away?

“It’s going to get very messy later, Ms. DeWitt.” Ms. Phan leaned out the office window. “What is it we always say, Casey?”

“Be prepared and take care of your neighbor!” Casey punched the neon bright umbrella toward the ceiling, eliciting a smile from Rosie.

Ms. Phan nodded with approval, and then gave Rosie a significant look. The day-care principal always managed to make Rosie feel like the worst mother on the planet.

“Thank you for your kind offer, sir,” Rosie said as she took the umbrella, wondering if there was another day care in the neighborhood that offered after school services without persecution of its parents. This was just the impression Rosie wanted to make on Vivian McCloud when she rejected her son—a political strategist who liked Jimmy Choos…and Spider-Man.

“DON’T LET HUD BAIT YOU.” The door to the Pyramid Center swung closed after Walter, almost hitting Rosie in the face. “He’ll try to test your knowledge of the issues. This is an excellent training ground for the presidential campaign.”

“Not a problem.” Presidential campaign. Rosie latched on to the idea like a lifeline. She was about to meet one of her idols—the woman who’d shaken hands with at least six presidents, a dozen heads of state and probably a Supreme Court justice or two.

The woman who could make her life unimaginably miserable if things didn’t go Rosie’s way.

Rosie spotted the Starbucks in the lobby immediately and clenched the strap of her briefcase against the urge to grab a cup. One of her curls escaped and fell onto her cheek.

“You’ll have to pass muster with his father’s campaign manager,” Walter continued, passing a hand over his bald head. “Stu Fenderson serves as Viv’s assistant now.”

She hadn’t admitted to Walter that she didn’t want the job. If Hudson turned out to be an ideal candidate—like that would happen—Rosie would recommend someone else work on his campaign.

“I’ve heard about Stu.” Old, crotchety, a womanizer in his day. Rosie knew how to deal with him—never waffle on an issue, speak loud enough for his hearing aid to pick up and never let him have the last word.

“But it’s most important that Viv approves of you. Make a bad impression and any chance you have at the national level will be slim to none. Everybody loves her and they’ll do anything she asks.” Walter pointed at Rosie. “Including blackball you. So, let’s not tell her you’re having lunch with another candidate.”

“She doesn’t know about Roger Bartholomew?” Rosie balked as she was about to pass a large modern sculpture in the lobby. When Walter confessed this morning that he was interested in a second candidate, Rosie’s grip on her coffee mug had turned white-knuckled. It was either that or let out a credibility-killing shout of relief. With another option, there was no way she’d get trapped into working on Hudson’s campaign.

“I don’t plan to tell Viv about Roger unless it’s absolutely necessary. That’s why I’m not going to lunch with you.”

“But—”

Walter gave Rosie an odd look over his shoulder as he handed the security guard his ID. “I trust your assessment.”

Rosie ignored the rush of excitement at the power he was giving her. “But you said Mrs. McCloud—”

“If you don’t play both sides of the coin, you’ll be empty-handed at the end of the day.” Meaning he wanted Rosie to do his dirty work so his friendship with Mrs. McCloud wouldn’t suffer.

She’d been planning to build a case against Hudson with Walter at her back, but now…

Certain she wore that deer in the headlights look, Rosie crossed the foyer and produced her ID.

They were followed into the elevator by a group of women each cradling a Starbucks cup. Trapped against the back wall, Rosie looked up at the small video screen playing news sound bites so she wouldn’t focus on the coffee. She’d had coffee this morning. She was prepared for the meeting—even if her hair was starting to unravel, Rosie would not. She didn’t need the prop of a coffee cup or the jolt of caffeine. But that didn’t stop Rosie from imagining the surprised look on the face of the woman next to her as Rosie plucked the cup from her hand.

Since Walter hadn’t given up his spot by the control buttons, he exited easily at the forty-second floor, while Rosie had to fight her way through the caffeine herd and was almost scrunched by the closing elevator doors. She trotted past several clear glass entryways, struggling on her short legs to catch up with Walter.

The doors to the McCloud offices had been replaced with paned, frosted ones so that no one in the hallway could see in. Walter marched through. Rosie’s hand hesitated on the cool, pebbled glass. Tension buzzed in her ears.

Rosie backed up a step, her fingertips almost a memory on the door. If she left, she’d lose a chance to influence the agenda of the next president of the United States. What would she tell Casey the next time he asked about what she wanted to be when she grew up? How could she encourage him not to abandon his dreams without putting forth the effort if she didn’t do the same? All she had to do was keep her mouth closed about Roger Bartholomew, not let Hudson get to her, control Stu and not even think about…

Don’t.

With a deep breath, Rosie pushed the door open and stepped into an opulent, hushed reception area decorated in muted grays and deep burgundies, coming face-to-face with a large oil portrait of Hamilton and Vivian McCloud, flanked by their two grown sons, Hudson and Samuel. The men all shared a strong cleft chin. No one smiled. It was an ominous portrait, no doubt created as a legacy marker. All the wild charm had been painted out of Samuel’s expression.

“There you are. I thought we’d lost you.” Walter stood next to an old man with a grizzled appearance, whose rumpled suit was a far cry from Walter’s fine wool one. “Rosie DeWitt, this is Stu Fenderson.”

Rosie learned a lot about a person by the way they shook hands. Stu’s hand latched on to hers like a tentacle, trapping Rosie’s until he found a weakness.

“You’re shorter than I expected,” Stu noted.

It was odd how men in politics liked to throw insults. Rosie smiled, grateful her heels put her at the old man’s height. She’d bet no one ever described Stu as tall, either. She looked him up and down. “Yeah, I hear that a lot, especially from men with a twenty-eight-inch inseam.”

Hand still pumping hers, Stu glanced down at Rosie’s shoes barely visible beneath the cuff of her pants. “Might be hard to keep up with us in those.”

“They’re a campaign necessity.” Since he still pumped her hand, she leaned closer until she could almost smell the oil he’d used to comb over what few strands of white hair he had left. “You see, I double as campaign security. These heels are licensed to kill in ten of the fifty states.”

“At the price you paid, they should be illegal in fifteen.” Hamilton McCloud’s widow leaned against a doorway to Rosie’s left looking just as beautiful and composed in real life as she did on television…only taller. Her gray hair was cut stylishly short to accent the classic bone structure of her face. Vivian McCloud wore a conservative cream-colored skirt and jacket that showed off her statuesque figure. “Women in Jimmy Choos don’t mess around, especially when those shoes haven’t gone on sale yet this season. Let her be, Stu.”

Stu reluctantly eased the suction on Rosie’s hand.

“So this is who you brought us, Walter.” Mrs. McCloud towered over Rosie as she approached. Casey didn’t get his height solely from the McCloud men.

Rosie was determined not to think about Samuel or the handful of days they’d spent together in Paris after her college graduation, but it was hard not to when she stood beneath his portrait with his mother bearing down on her.

“Only the best for our boy,” Walter said, giving his raincoat to the receptionist. “She’s strong on strategy and a compelling speech writer.”

Grateful for the distraction, Rosie handed the receptionist Casey’s Spider-Man umbrella, smiling sheepishly. Then she was shaking hands with Casey’s grandmother. The strength of Vivian McCloud’s grip rivaled that of a lioness protecting her young. This was a woman who’d be fearless against those who inflicted injustice and deception upon the McCloud family.

And yet, the guilt must not have shown on Rosie’s face because the McCloud matriarch still spoke warmly. “Thank you for coming.”

“My pleasure, ma’am. Rosie DeWitt, political strategist.” Rosie prided herself on her composure. She was a pro, an up-and-comer with a solid reputation in politics. And a big fat li—

She would not define herself with the L word. Nor would she allow so much as a wobble in her high heels or succumb to the overwhelming desire to pass out. As long as Rosie kept her distance, stuck to her plan and didn’t get chummy with the McClouds, she and Casey would be fine.

“Ma’am? That reference makes me feel old. You may call me Vivian. Later on you can tell me where you got those shoes.”

“Thank you…Vivian.” So much for keeping her distance.

Vivian beamed. “This looks like the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Don’t you think so, Stu?”

“Let’s see what she can do with him first,” Stu said, gesturing to a door behind him.

With enviable composure, Vivian strolled past Rosie to the remaining closed door and opened it without knocking. “Hud, darling. Come see what Walter’s brought you.”

Stu and Walter followed Vivian, unaware that Rosie hesitated behind them glancing up at Samuel’s portrait and wishing for a cup of coffee.

CHAPTER TWO

“COME IN AND SIT DOWN.” Hud’s mother held the door as the jury filed in with a verdict—salvageable candidate or not. The quality of the campaign manager Walter O’Connell selected would be telling.

Hud stood and came around his desk to shake hands with Walter, who held the fate of his family’s political legacy in his hands. Hud nodded to Stu, but didn’t see anyone behind the chairman’s large frame. His shoulders sank. So, they’d decided Hud was unmarketable. He turned back to his desk.

His mother cleared her throat, inclining her head almost imperceptibly toward the door. Hud looked around to face a pixie with big dark eyes and long, wild black curls, including one artfully arranged on her cheek.

“Rosie DeWitt.” Cheeks flaming, she thrust out her hand.

Hud took Ms. DeWitt’s hand gingerly in both of his, afraid his normal grip might crush her delicate bones. Warm and soft, her hand fit nicely between his. Despite her solid reputation, there was no way Rosie DeWitt was capable of the cutthroat behavior that Hud needed from his campaign manager. Her hands were more suited to stroking a lover than greasing palms and salvaging careers.

As if sensing his assessment, her eyes flashed. She gripped his hand as firmly as any man ever had, gave it a good shake and pulled away. “You don’t want to shake a woman’s hand like that.”

The absence of her warmth robbed him of speech.

A state his mother never experienced. “Why ever not? I think it’s a sweet gesture.”

“Women see it as something more subtle and…” Ms. DeWitt gave Hudson a sideways glance as she crossed the room to set down her slender leather briefcase. “A bit suggestive.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t.” Ms. DeWitt cut him off, digging in her briefcase. She knew he was lying. He could tell by the lingering bloom of color on her cheeks that she’d felt the attraction between them and was as surprised as he was by it. “But not everyone else knows your touch is platonic.” She pulled out a sheaf of papers and sank into a chair, gesturing for everyone to be seated as if this was her office, not his.

“Walter, what kind of game are you playing?” Hud asked, giving the woman a wide berth on the way to his chair. If he so much as brushed up against her she’d probably accuse him of sexual harassment.

“The kind of game you should have played when you were Senator McCloud.” Ms. DeWitt looked past his shoulder in the direction of Alcatraz. “Play up your strengths, admit your mistakes and move on. Do you want me to continue?”

“No,” Hud said at the same time his mother said, “Yes,” arching her brows at him when he frowned.

Okay. Points to Mother. This was going to be painful just as she’d predicted. Hud was tired of hearing advice on what he should have done. He wanted advice to help him today. His father’s clock ticked off the seconds Hud was wasting until Ms. DeWitt spoke again.

“According to a poll conducted by the party this week, one-third of registered voters believe Hudson did the honorable thing by stepping down, one-third considered his resignation an admission of guilt and one-third couldn’t care less about him.” Ms. DeWitt spoke directly to Hud’s mother, as if she knew Hud would be annoyed that they’d conducted a poll already. It gave them ammunition he didn’t have. “Now, if you look at women, two-thirds considered what Hud did honorable. We’ll need to keep the female vote happy, but at a distance. We can’t have as much as a breath of scandal.”

That explained her aversion to his handshake. Hudson made a derisive noise and rolled his eyes. “Fortunately, I’m not the womanizer my brother Samuel was,” he said before he realized his mother might be offended by his comment. Samuel had been her favorite.

But everyone ignored his outburst, including Ms. DeWitt. “We also asked who voters would prefer sitting down to dinner with—Hudson or the president—and they chose our commander in chief. Then we gave them a choice between Hudson or Samuel—and they chose Samuel.” She seemed unexpectedly pleased that Hud had failed both questions.

“What kind of question is that?” And how had Hud lost to his irresponsible, dead brother?

“It’s a standard question we ask,” Walter explained. “If voters don’t like you, they won’t vote for you.”

“I would have chosen the president, too,” Stu inserted almost absently.

His mother shushed their family’s longtime assistant.

Ms. DeWitt nodded. “If Hudson is serious about the election, he’ll have to publicly address what happened in D.C.—”

“The past won’t come into play here,” Hud interjected. “This is about the future.”

Ms. DeWitt’s brow creased ever so slightly. She turned to his mother, no longer acknowledging Hudson’s presence. “And create a more appealing persona.”

Hud’s jaw tightened. The verdict was in. The party didn’t want him. In fact, Rosie DeWitt, who had a reputation for doing the impossible in politics, didn’t like him.

“If the party chooses to back Hudson, we’d be taking a huge risk since the Republican opponent will most likely attack Hudson’s Senate record relentlessly. That’s what I’d do in their shoes.” She gave Hud a look that dared him to contradict her. “So, Hudson, why don’t you tell us why you think the Democrats should take this risk?”

“My son has the highest ethical standards,” his mother bristled. Too late, Hudson realized how hard this must be on her. Perhaps he should have insisted she stay out of this meeting.

Walter started to speak, but Ms. DeWitt held up a hand. “To win, he’ll need both voter trust and liking. How do you expect to increase your chances?” She didn’t measure Hud with her stare but rather dared him to defend himself.

It had been years since anyone had challenged Hud, much less a miniature woman with too big of an ego. “I thought the party paid you to improve my numbers. Where do you categorize yourself on that poll you referenced earlier, Ms. DeWitt?”

“Excuse me?” Something flared in Ms. DeWitt’s eyes. She may have dressed in designer clothes and spent hours to get that hair of hers to fall artfully over her face, but she wasn’t an all-fluff, no-substance debutante. Her fact gathering proved that, and her nearly black eyes accented with a thick carpet of eyelashes and minimal cosmetics told him she was no nonsense.

No fun, either. Despite the unexpected physical spark between them. But Hud doubted if anyone dared contest Ms. DeWitt when the decision over their careers rested with her. For an instant, Hud considered retreating, but he was done sidestepping battles. “Did you vote for me to go to the slammer because of my handshaking style or did you think I should be acquitted of all charges?”

Hud half expected Ms. DeWitt to blush again, but she didn’t. Her gaze hardened the way only seasoned back-room dealmakers could when someone got in their way. Hud spared a glance to Walter. What bonus had the party offered Ms. DeWitt to work on his campaign? She certainly wasn’t one of his supporters.

“My personal opinion of you doesn’t matter. It’s my professional opinion you should be worried about. I don’t back candidates that don’t have what it takes to win.” In that moment, her eyes blazing and her dark hair spiraling in wild waves around her face, Hud wanted to have her.

The reaction gave him pause.

“Walter?” His mother turned to the chairman.

Walter cleared his throat and Hud silenced him with a gesture before he could enter the fray. “What makes you think I don’t have what it takes to win?”

SHE’D COME ON TOO STRONG. Hudson had gotten Rosie out of rhythm. From the get-go, his touch had thrown her off with his unexpected animal magnetism. She’d seen him speak before but never actually met him. Up close, he was tall—taller than Samuel—and so perfectly put together—not a strand of black hair out of place or a wrinkle in his suit—with a penetrating gaze that challenged as intensely as it beckoned.

Yet she knew from what Samuel had told her that Hudson didn’t care about others beyond how he could use them to garner more power. A man like that would never swallow his pride. She’d played to that, only she’d played a bit too hard and upset the McClouds.

Rosie stared at her hands, realizing she should have turned this meeting down and suffered the career setback. But in addition to fulfilling an obligation to Vivian McCloud and testing the waters that led to presidential campaigns, she’d wanted to see for herself if she was making the right decision by keeping Casey a secret from this side of his family tree. And by showing up and taking the offensive right away, she’d made things ten times worse.

Rosie stood, capturing Hudson’s gaze, ignoring the stubborn cleft to his chin. “I’m no different than any other voter. I want to believe that you’re a good person worthy of my trust. I’ll even forgive you a few mistakes as long as you own up to them and apologize. But you haven’t told me anything to keep those beliefs alive, not two years ago and certainly not today.”

Hudson’s mouth thinned into a hard line. He didn’t say anything. Rosie’s gaze drifted past him, but the spectacular view was hidden behind oppressive rain clouds.

“I’ll tell you why you can’t win. Voters want to back someone with a captivating personality. If you’re intriguing, you don’t let anyone see it.” Disregarding a twinge of discomfort that she was being brutally cruel to Vivian’s son in front of her, Rosie locked gazes with Hudson. “You’re not married. You don’t date. You don’t show up at ball games or the beach. Everything about you, from this high-rise office suite to the domineering expression on your face shouts, ‘stay away from me.’”

Chairs on either side of her creaked with disappointment, fueling the growing unease eating at Rosie’s composure. Walter was letting her hang on this one. Her chances of being blackballed by Vivian now outweighed her chances at the presidential campaign. Ever.

She forced herself to face Vivian, hoping Casey’s grandmother might understand, hoping she wouldn’t hold Rosie’s rejection of Hudson against her. But as a mother, Rosie wouldn’t forgive anyone who stood in the way of her son’s dreams. “I was hoping your son was someone honorable, someone I could trust to watch out for the interests of my son. I’d pour my heart into a campaign for someone like that, regardless of what his last name was.” She’d said too much, looked too weak.

And there was no sign of forgiveness in Vivian McCloud’s expression, only a sad resignation as if she was sorry to have to end Rosie’s career.

Rosie picked up her briefcase. “Excuse me. I have another appointment.”

“WELL, THAT’S THAT,” Hud’s mother announced brightly.

“You agree that my political career is over because I have no personality?” There was so much adrenaline pumping through his veins, Hud could barely sit still. He disagreed with everything Ms. DeWitt said, but the Democratic chairman hadn’t supported or refuted her judgment, so Hud hadn’t argued with her toward the end of her insulting diatribe.

“Rosie’s assessments are usually right on the money,” Walter said, showing his true colors.

“She’s a regular firecracker,” Stu said. “I’d pay to see that again. Do you want me to go get her?”

“No.” His mother waved a weary hand. “At your age, you’d never catch a determined woman like that. It’s for the best.”

“Yes. Rosie is long gone.” Walter looked apologetic. “She’s having lunch with Roger Bartholomew.”

“Is she dating him?” Stu asked before Hud could.

Roger Bartholomew lied and cheated his way through life and seduced women he had no feelings for. Among the social elite of the city, Roger made Samuel look like a saint. Although Ms. DeWitt dating Roger would explain why she and Hud didn’t get along, Hud suspected something far worse. “You’re considering Roger for mayor, aren’t you? This was all a show. You were never seriously considering me.”

“There’s been many a politician who overcame worse than you’ve experienced, and their last name wasn’t McCloud. Rosie told you what you needed to do. I’ve never known her to steer someone wrong.” Walter stood. “It was an interesting idea, Viv. Now, just so I don’t feel as if I wasted the trip from Los Angeles, would you like to go to lunch?”

The party didn’t think Hudson was a failure? Ms. DeWitt thought he had a chance?

“I’m always free for lunch with you, Walter,” his mother replied with an apologetic look in Hud’s direction. “Perhaps we can talk about Hud’s prospects over lobster salad at Aqua?”

Walter’s laughter dissolved into a fit of coughing. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. That little lady has never led me astray in my decision of who the party backs.” Walter buttoned his suit jacket. “I imagine after lunch at Plouf, she’ll recommend the party back Bartholomew.”

Without even a cursory shake of Walter’s hand, Hudson sprinted toward the door.

“WELL, I…” Vivian didn’t know what to say as she watched Hudson’s retreating back.

“He’s usually very steady.” Stu filled in the void.

“I’m sure he is,” Walter said. “I’m still free for lunch, Viv.”

From the day her husband had introduced Vivian to the tall, broad-shouldered politician, Walter had called her Viv. She’d always been Vivian to Hamilton, yet there was something about the way Walter said the nickname that she’d always liked. “Do you think Hud went after her?”

“If he wants to reenter politics, he better be hightailing it after her.” Walter gestured for Vivian to precede him out of Hudson’s office, then called his driver requesting he bring the car around.

“I’m sure he’ll set things right.” She still wasn’t sure she wanted Hud back in politics. Vivian was proud of Hud and the choices he’d made, but even she had to admit he came across as a stuffed shirt. It would take a lot to get him to loosen up.

Walter helped Vivian into her raincoat. After he smoothed her collar, his hands drifted down her arms in an intimate manner and then fell away.

Vivian froze. Walter was always such a gentleman. She’d probably misread the moment. They were friends. That touch…that touch was just supportive. What had they been talking about? Uh… “It takes a strong woman to go out in Jimmy Choos on a day like today with only a Spider-Man umbrella.”

“Most admirable.” Walter held the door and bid goodbye to Stu.

Vivian passed Walter, her walk unusually self-conscious. “How are your kids?”

“Healthy. Still married. Financially sound.” Walter reached in front of Vivian to press the elevator button. He had solid, strong fingers. “Now that the grandchild is talking, I’ve found he’s actually interesting.”

“Really?” Vivian suppressed her envy. With her husband and Samuel gone, her life was too empty. Not that she wanted it filled with politics again. She’d lost most of her friends in D.C. after Hudson stepped down, which just proved they weren’t really her friends. Vivian forced herself to smile. Walter didn’t deserve her melancholy mood. “You’re too young to be a grandfather.”

He chuckled, the textured sound filling her chest in an odd way. “I’m old enough to be a widower, as are you. Fifteen, twenty years ago when our kids were in high school we were old enough to be grandparents. We were just lucky, that’s all.”

“You don’t fit the mold of any grandparent I know,” Vivian said, stepping into the empty elevator, noting how thoughtful he was to have a hand on the door.

“Let me tell you about today’s grandparents.” Walter crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He was one of a few men from their generation who was considerably taller than she was. “Grandparents nowadays still vote, but they travel and go out to eat at nice restaurants, and every once in a while, if they’re lucky, they have sex.”

Just the word sex was enough to send Vivian’s pulse racing. She’d given up on the idea years ago and now Walter had reawakened a need. Vivian was going to have to check her medication because she had to be having a hot flash.

“IT’S A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU.” Many women probably found Roger Bartholomew attractive, but his highlighted blond hair and average chin didn’t make near the impression on Rosie that Hudson’s presence did. Roger cradled Rosie’s hand in both of his smooth, pale ones without shaking it at all.

Rosie extracted herself and tried to lift at least one corner of her mouth in a weak interpretation of a smile. Still reeling from the awkward scene with the McClouds, Rosie needed Roger to be a stellar candidate. And quickly, because she had to pick up Casey early today. Once she settled into a chair across from Roger, Rosie looked up to find Hudson McCloud at the maitre d’ stand. Their gazes collided, sending her heart pounding.

He knows about Casey. Why else would Hudson be here except to demand visitation and subject Casey to the kind of media circus he’d grown up with?

Because he’s a conceited nuisance who wants to be mayor. Sanity returned, along with a steadier heartbeat.

“Would you excuse me, Roger?” Rosie hurried to the front of the restaurant, grabbed Hudson by the arm and tugged him over toward the restrooms out of Roger’s line of vision should he look. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re not finished with your assessment of me.” Hudson thrust his hands into his raincoat pockets. “We didn’t talk about my ideas for the city.”

“Don’t be a sore loser.” Even in her heels, Rosie had to tilt her head back to look at Hudson, to take in his determined expression on his much too handsome features framed by crisp, well-behaved dark hair. Although her time with Samuel had been brief, she’d appreciated the fact that the hair at the nape of Samuel’s neck curled uncontrollably and his nose was a bit crooked. Perfection like Hudson’s was intimidating.

“I won’t lose. I’ll just wait by the door for you to realize I’m a better risk than Roger.” True to his word, tall, dark and annoying went to stand in the foyer.

His political career was so over.

As she walked past him, Hudson leaned close. “What did you think of his handshake?”

Rosie didn’t want to admit that Roger’s handshake gave her the heebie-jeebies. With only two candidates on Walter’s radar, if Roger had other qualities that were marketable, Rosie was recommending him. Handshakes could be fixed. Personality flaws like Hudson’s could not.

“I’m sorry for the interruption.” Rosie arranged her napkin in her lap and looked about the table. “Didn’t we have menus?”

“I ordered for you while you were in the ladies’ room.”

Rosie tried to mask her irritation at Roger’s presumptuous behavior. “We’ve never met before. How did you know what to order?”

“I know what women like.” Something sexist dripped from each word and Roger’s smile was condescending.

If it wasn’t for Hudson McCloud standing watch, Rosie might have left. Instead, she vowed to get the upper hand. “Never presume, Roger.” Flagging down a waiter, Rosie requested a menu.

“I apologize.” Roger looked quite unattractive when things didn’t go his way.

Rosie was familiar with the French seafood bistro and knew what she wanted, but she still gave the menu a cursory glance before ordering an endive salad and lobster ravioli. “Why don’t you tell me why you want to be mayor?”

“My family settled in the city nearly one hundred years ago and it seems like a good place to start a political career.”

That wasn’t an answer. Rosie knew Roger lived off his family’s wealth rather than working, as Hudson did. According to Walter, his charitable contributions paled next to Hudson’s. She needed to uncover any advantage Roger had over Hudson. She tried again. “If you were mayor…” Rosie trailed off as she caught Roger’s attention drifting after a twiggy woman in a too-short skirt passing their table.

Roger gave Rosie an unrepentant grin, as if this were a common occurrence a female campaign manager wouldn’t find both insulting and problematic. “I’m always on the lookout for the next Mrs. Bartholomew. I’ve heard it’s easier to get into office as a married man than as a single one.”

Oh, pul-ease. Why had Walter set up this lunch? Roger was not politician material. Rosie didn’t need any more time to make that judgment, but she couldn’t bail with Hudson waiting. If she had to grin and bear Roger through lunch, she was going to need a glass of wine. Rosie held up a hand and signaled another waiter. At least the service at Plouf was excellent.

“Rosie?” Hudson appeared next to their table with a practiced, easy grin. Heaven forbid he show too many teeth. “I thought that was you. And then you waved and—”

“I did not wave at you.” Rosie glared at Hudson. “Did you think I was asking you to join us?” No one could be that obtuse.

“May I?” Hudson greeted Roger, shook his hand and sat beside Rosie, ignoring the look she gave him and nodding his head toward the awestruck woman at the next table. “The place is packed.”

“We’re having a private conversation,” Roger said, his brows pitching downward.

Hudson pointed at the two of them. “I’m not interrupting something romantic, am I?”

“No!” Rosie felt like jabbing an elbow in Hudson’s rib cage.

“Good. Just pretend I’m not here. I need to check e-mail anyway.” With that, Hudson pulled out his BlackBerry and started scrolling through his messages.

Where was that waiter?

CHAPTER THREE

ROGER LOWERED HIS VOICE. “The lady wants you to leave.”

“Given your track record, I prefer to stay. The lady needs protection.” From both Roger and her own mistaken impressions. Hud leaned back in his chair and put his arm across the top of Rosie’s chair. Somewhere between his office and Plouf she’d become someone who believed in him, however reluctant that belief might be, and he’d started thinking of her as Rosie.

“Gentlemen, please.” But Rosie only stared at Hud and bobbed her head in the direction of the door, freeing another wayward curl in her effort to get rid of him.

If Rosie wasn’t going to willingly give him a second chance, Hud had no choice but to create his own opportunities. “I hear you’re interested in running for mayor, Roger. I’m curious. What would you put on your agenda?”

“Agenda?” The other man frowned.

Thank you, Roger, for making this easy. “What issues would take priority for you? Education? Health care? Transportation?”

Roger shrugged. “They all seem important to me. Doesn’t the city have a lot of programs in place already?”

“Yes, we do.” Hud smiled and brought his head closer to Rosie’s because he knew it would annoy Roger. “There are several great programs in San Francisco. The problem is red tape. People don’t know how to get the help they need or they can’t work their way through the bureaucratic paper trail.”

“Like you know what’s going on in San Francisco,” Roger sulked.

“I know that with the most attractive health care and services programs around we attract more than our fair share of homeless.” Hud sensed Rosie’s appraising gaze upon him and hoped she realized how passionate he was about serving his community. “And that our city is overly dependent upon tourism. Our infrastructure is strained and the new bay bridge still won’t be large enough to handle all the traffic during rush hour.”

“What? Are you applying for the mayor’s job?” Roger snapped. Then he looked from Hud to Rosie and swore. “You are!”

“That’s enough,” Rosie interjected.

Hud shrugged. “I’d like to think I can make the city a better place.”

“That’s bull.” Roger shook his head. “No one can change a thing. The best you can do is ride shotgun and hope for no earthquakes or terrorist attacks.”

“I think you’re wrong.” And now, hopefully, Rosie would, too.

“You’re not going to impress her with that.” Roger’s voice turned sour. “Politicians are realists. Aren’t they?”

“I think,” Rosie said after looking the two of them over, “things have gotten out of hand here and—”

“You should go,” Hud told Roger, moving his hand closer to Rosie’s shoulder with a grin.

Roger stood. “Don’t make any hasty decisions about Hudson. Everyone knows he’s a quitter.” Tossing his napkin on the table, Roger left.

Hud didn’t realize he’d gripped Rosie’s shoulder until she loosened his fingers from her jacket. “Please tell me that more people wanted to go to dinner with me than with that pompous jerk,” he said.

The waiter placed a glass of white wine in front of her while Rosie scooted her chair away from his. “I have never seen such a childish display in my life,” she said finally. “You barge in here—”

“Pull out your charts.”

“Sit down in the midst of what is clearly a business meeting—”

“Or I’ll do it for you.”

“And bully Roger into leaving.”

She was breathing heavy and so was Hud. He hadn’t experienced a good fight in a long time. He was angry and frustrated and trying not to be desperate. But what was most surprising was how alive Rosie DeWitt made him feel, how he wanted to twine his fingers through her long springy curls while they sparred. Hud could tell from the intensity of her glare that she felt the same way. Adversaries sometimes made the best lovers. Not that pursuing a relationship with his campaign manager would help Hud’s image. He’d learned over the last few years that short-term attraction distracted him from his long-term goals. But that didn’t mean Hud couldn’t use this spark between them to his advantage.

Hud grinned. “I can wait all day.” Because he was going to get Rosie’s endorsement for mayor if he had to follow her home.

“PERHAPS I SHOULD CALL HUD.” Vivian fiddled with the stem of her wineglass as she sat across from Walter in one of San Francisco’s most exclusive restaurants.

Walter put his chin on his hand and studied her intently, much the way he’d been doing all through lunch, as if he’d just met her and was trying to figure her out. “Why? He’s a grown man.”

“I know, but I want him to be happy.”

“After age eighteen, they have to be in charge of finding their own happiness. I think I told you as much twenty years ago.”

Vivian attempted a smile. “I didn’t listen then, either.” She’d spoiled Samuel because Hamilton had been so hard on Hud. It had taken Samuel a long time to grow up, but eventually he had, going so far as to receive a graduate degree from Berkeley before joining the army. When he was killed in Afghanistan, Vivian was glad she’d made his short life so special.

“Adversity builds character,” Walter pointed out, reaching for her hand. He was so supportive, always there when she needed him. A decade ago Walter had stood by her side when Hamilton passed away from complications created by his diabetes. He’d helped Hud see her through the loss of Samuel nearly five years later and had been one of the few people who didn’t disappear when things went sour for Hud in the Senate. When she’d called earlier in the week to discuss Hud’s options, Walter had been the one to suggest Rosie and she’d readily agreed, knowing he’d use Vivian’s name to smooth things over for Hud.

With her hand enveloped in Walter’s larger one, Vivian felt safe. “We’ve had enough adversity in our lives. Hud doesn’t need any more.”

“Hudson is young enough to weather a few more storms.” Walter stroked his thumb across the back of her hand, sending an almost forgotten thrill skittering across her skin. “You’re the one I want to see happy.”

She tried to ease her hand back, but Walter only held on tighter. If she had any sense, she’d think her old friend was making a move on her. But Vivian knew better. She was nearing sixty-five with skin that had lost its elasticity and body parts that drooped. Powerful men like Walter pursued young, nubile bodies.

Vivian patted Walter’s hand and gently extricated herself, because she knew what he wanted even if he seemed not to at the moment. “I am happy.”

With a significant glance at his empty hand, Walter’s dark eyebrows went up a centimeter or two. They both knew that was a fib. She’d spent the last two years moping around her office and home. A change of subject was in order.

“Why on earth are you considering Roger Bartholomew? He was one of Samuel’s friends.” One of his wilder friends and someone Vivian considered an extremely bad influence on her son in college. “And he’s too young.”

“I chose two candidates that I’m certain will make Rosie’s recommendation an easy one.” And that was as close as Walter would come to admitting he’d stacked the deck in Hud’s favor. “I thought you didn’t want Hudson back in politics.”

“I’ve grown accustomed to the peace and quiet.”

“You’ve retreated from the world but you can’t quite give up influencing it. You can’t have it both ways, Viv.” Walter gave her a half smile.

She laughed. “When you’ve done all I’ve done, why be bothered with all this?” Vivian gestured to the room full of men and women in suits.

“Do you want me to buy you some support hose and a rocking chair?”

“I don’t consider myself elderly.” Vivian bristled.

“Then don’t act like it.” There was that spark of male interest in his eyes again.

Vivian didn’t want to admit that she longed for a rocking chair and a lap filled with babies more than she longed to stand behind Hud while he gave speech after speech. Anybody could do that. “Maybe I want something different. Maybe I want to be…” Needed.

“What?”

But Vivian wasn’t ready to tell Walter that she had no reason to get up in the morning and no reason to climb into her empty bed at night.

ROSIE’S PHONE BEEPED. Somehow in the midst of all the arguing and male posturing, she’d missed a call. A quick check of the screen revealed the words Rainbow Day Care. Caught up in the excitement, she’d lost track of time. Using her bad-mommy antennae, Ms. Phan had probably sensed Rosie would be hung up and called to remind her.

It was one-fifteen. Rosie was going to be late and Casey, bless his heart, was going to forgive her like he always did. “I’ve got to go.”

“Wait,” Hudson said. “Tell me if my figures are stronger than Roger’s.”

“I have to pick up my son.” Grabbing her things, Rosie wended her way to the door. On her way out, she left money with the maitre d’.

“Do you have an umbrella?” the maitre d’ asked. “It’s really coming down.”

Glancing up, Rosie saw the downpour. Idiot. She’d left Casey’s Spider-Man umbrella in Hudson’s office. She’d have to admit to Casey that she’d lost it. He’d find this infraction harder to forgive than her being late. It was two blocks to a bus stop, and at least four to BART. Getting a taxi during lunch hour in the city was always challenging, but during a rain shower would be next to impossible. She’d show up late, drenched, without Casey’s umbrella.

Rosie called Selena, who had a car and as an artist had a more flexible schedule than most of her friends. She’d picked up Casey before when Rosie got in a jam. But Selena’s phone rolled to voice mail.

A hand touched her shoulder. Rosie jumped and twisted her ankle as her slender heel gave way, not noticing a steadying grip on her arm until she regained her footing.

Hudson’s brown eyes were the color of strong whiskey, a potent, overwhelming force. “Let me give you a ride.”

She’d never liked whiskey. “I’ll get a taxi.” Rosie tried to remember where the nearest hotel was. That would be her best bet for a cab. The last thing she needed was Hudson hounding her all across town. In addition to the flaws Samuel had pointed out to her all those years ago, his brother had no manners.

“You’ll need this.” He pulled Casey’s small Spider-Man umbrella out of his inner raincoat pocket. “My assistant realized you left without it.”

She was saved. “That was very nice of you.” He’d carried it all this way. Rosie couldn’t imagine Samuel doing such a thing.

“Unexpected, I see.”

“It certainly is. You could have given it to me in front of Roger.” And tried to humiliate her.

Hudson shrugged, grinning as if he didn’t often get caught being nice. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“Neither do you.”

The rain came down so hard it sounded as if there was a train outside.

“How about we declare a truce?” Hudson rubbed the back of his neck, looking contrite. “You’ll never get a cab and my driver is just around the corner.”

“Fine.” Even with Casey’s umbrella, there was no way Rosie would find a taxi in time. While Hudson called his driver, Rosie stepped out of her Jimmy Choos and stuffed them into her slender briefcase, managing to zip it closed. The money she’d paid for those shoes would have been better spent on Casey’s college fund. Chalk up another bad decision on the long list of her parenting mistakes.

“INNER SUNSET, PLEASE,” Rosie said, bending forward so that Graham, Hud’s driver, could hear the rest of her directions. Then she sat back, opened her briefcase and pulled out her precious shoes, dragging out a file bursting with clippings, photos and papers in the process. The file tab bore his name.

Hud recognized the edge of one of his Senate campaign photos. His fingers twitched as he wondered what else was in there.

“They didn’t get wet,” she murmured, reverently placing the shoes on the seat between them before sinking back and closing her eyes. She curled her wet toes, shimmering with pink polish, into the carpet. “I’ll just sit here and pretend I’m invisible and that the past two and a half hours didn’t happen. Can you wake me when we get to my son’s day care?”

Most women Hud knew would have harped on about what he’d just done. But then, most women didn’t have an inch-thick file on Hud or such a disappointing set of beliefs about him. There had to be a way to change Rosie’s mind. Caving in to his curiosity, he flipped her file open to an editorial on his Senatorial campaign viewpoints. Rosie had written “fair assessment” in the margin as well as underlining a passage claiming Hudson was passionate but too young and green for the responsibilities of office.

“What are you doing?” She turned her head slightly to look at him.

“Trying to find out what you think of me.”

“I believe I made that clear in your office.”

“I can still wonder why you think I’m a poor choice, can’t I?” Hud shrugged.

Rosie stiffened, then faced forward again and closed her eyes, but her eyelashes fluttered as if she was trying to peek at him.

She’d printed off his voting record. There was a defense bill he’d voted for that she’d written “mistake” next to, but a medical bill he’d helped write had “good piece of work” scribbled next to it. Hud relaxed against the seat, agreeing with her. He’d voted for the defense bill in exchange for a vote on a childcare bill from a Texas senator although the defense bill was loaded with pork.

He flipped to a clipping of his debate team winning the state championship his senior year in high school. There was a small picture of him in action looking as if he could conquer the world. “That was a lifetime ago.”

“I suppose it was hard to face the reality that everything you touch doesn’t turn to gold.” Her finger twitched on the door handle as if she were impatient to get away from him.

She was a piece of work and Hud was going to enjoy making her see things his way. “Everyone goes through a teenage phase of immortality.”

“Yours just lasted longer than others.” She cast a sideways glance in his direction, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“I hadn’t realized putting me in my place had become a blood sport. Or that one of the aides to the Democratic chairman would enjoy it so much.”

Without a word, Rosie looked out the window as if he’d struck a nerve. Why was she so determined to point out his flaws? He returned his attention to her file in case it held the answer.

Just behind the article was a picture of that year’s debate team. Hud’s eyes weren’t as good as they used to be and he had to lift the photo closer to look at the once familiar faces, including his own naively confident visage. Standing next to him was Samuel, looking as bored and out of place as he’d ever been at anything that their father cared about. Hud passed his fingers over the photo.

“That’s my brother,” Hudson said when he trusted himself to speak. Thinking of Samuel was sometimes like that. There were days when Hud could talk about him easily and others when his throat trapped all the emotion inside him.

“People loved him,” she pointed out, as if rubbing it in that Hud was the less popular brother.

“He liked making friends, but he had no interest in politics.” Much to the family’s dismay. And Hud’s. It would have been easier on him if he didn’t have to shoulder all the hopes of the family.

“He didn’t have the drive.”

“Like I do.”

“Like you used to have,” Rosie corrected him, giving him a view of the curls on the back of her head.

“I am very driven. And I have lots of friends who find me intriguing.” He hadn’t meant to let Rosie get to him.

“I call them as I see them.” Her voice was flat, as if she thought Hud wasn’t worth arguing over.

“And you know this by reading my file.” She didn’t know Hud at all. “Maybe there are things that aren’t in my file—that might make you feel differently.”

“I’ve been trained to be a judge of what sells and what works in the system. It’s my professional opinion, nothing more.”

He wasn’t going to take this setback lying down. Rosie DeWitt didn’t know it yet, but her professional opinion was about to change.

“MOMMY!” Casey stumbled away from the table where he’d been sitting and watching the clock. He ran to Rosie on coltish legs that seemed to get longer every week. “Did you forget today was an early day?”

The doctor predicted Casey would be at least six foot five, which shocked Rosie, who only stood five foot three on bad hair days when the fog or rain frizzed her hair an additional vertical inch.

Casey loped past the one other boy still waiting to be picked up, leaping over the action figures he’d spread across the carpet and landing in a way that almost sent him crashing to his knees. Instead of falling, her son hurtled into her, hugging Rosie as only a child can hug.

“I’m sorry, pumpkin.”

On the other side of the glassed entryway, Hudson waited in his car, unaware that Rosie planned to walk home in her bare feet if the rain let up at all. Would he see anything of Samuel in Casey? Or was he too self-involved to notice? She was betting on the latter.

Unwilling to release the love of her life, Rosie half carried, half dragged her son toward the door. Casey squealed with joy and clung tighter until she set him down at the wall of cubbies so they could grab his backpack and a stack of notices.

“It’s Friday. Pizza night! Pizza night!” Casey moved in a jolting rendition of a dance he’d seen advertising an amusement park as Rosie retrieved his coat. Casey raised his arms to the ceiling. “Pep-per-oni! Pep-per-on-i!” Then he looked at her expectantly.

The Friday night pizza dance was one of their rituals and considering she was late again, Rosie didn’t dare short her child on anything else. “Ve-ge-tables. Ve-ge-tables.” She pumped her arms and moved her hips. If Hudson was watching from his car, maybe now he’d understand how much he lacked in personality.

Casey’s lip thrust out. “Gross, not mushrooms.”

“Yum, and green peppers.” Not daring to look behind her at the street, she kept dancing. Now would be a good time for it to stop raining so they could ditch Hudson and walk home.

“No, Mommy,” Casey said, putting a hand on her arm, as serious as the uncle he’d never met and Rosie didn’t want to introduce him to. “I’m gonna tell Chin-Chin only pepperoni on mine.”

“Deal.” Rosie stopped dancing and brushed her finger over his nose. “But only if you eat salad first, Case.”

Rosie wished Ms. Phan a good weekend and turned to find Hudson holding the day care door open for them with one hand and an umbrella in the other. With a smile at Casey, Hudson gestured toward his open car door, barely visible through the steady curtain of rain.

Holding her breath, Rosie searched Hudson’s expression for any indication that he saw some resemblance between Samuel and Casey. Not that there were many. Other than his height, Casey took after Rosie’s side of the family.

“I asked Graham to turn on the radio,” Hudson said, obviously trying not to laugh, but the effort only emphasized the cleft in his chin. “In case you wanted to rock out in the car.”

Instead of sinking against the wall in relief because Hudson hadn’t recognized any of the McCloud attributes in Casey’s features, Rosie gave Hudson the look, the one perfected from years of being a mom, the one that said, “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Who are you?” Casey asked, backing up a step and rolling his head back so he could see Hudson’s face.

“I’m Hudson McCloud. Your mom’s going to get me elected mayor.”

Ms. Phan made an excited noise and came over to shake Hudson’s hand.

Hudson snuck a triumphant glance at Rosie that seemed to say, “See, people like me.”

“I love your mother,” Ms. Phan gushed, causing Hudson’s smile to falter.

“Most people do,” Rosie acknowledged, grateful that it was only two blocks to Chin-Chin’s Pizzeria and Noodle House and their apartment above it. Her toes were cold and—hallelujah—the ride with Hudson would be too short for much conversation.

Once they were belted into the car and Graham had been given instructions, Casey pressed his nose to the glass and asked, “Can we go to the video store?”

Trying to keep her thigh from touching Hudson’s, Rosie inched closer to Casey. “Let me change first.” And get rid of Hudson.

Casey noticed his breath fogged the window and after emitting several gusts of air, he drew circles on the glass. “No, I want to ride in the car.”

“We’ll drive you,” Hudson offered too eagerly.

“Awesome.” Casey wiped his drawings away, then began blowing on the glass again.

“I’m sure you have business you need to attend to,” Rosie said, tucking her left arm closer to her chest. The less time Hudson spent with Casey the better.

“I don’t bite,” Hudson said, chuckling.

“I’m not going to find out,” Rosie retorted, leaning farther away from him as they turned the corner.

With a glance over his shoulder at Rosie, Casey asked, “Can we go? Plea-ea-ease.” He gave her a toothy grin. “We never get to drive anywhere.”

“There’s a video store a few blocks up,” Graham pointed out, inclining his gray head.

“That’s the one!” Casey bounced in his seat. “This is so cool. I wish we had a car like this.”

Hudson leaned across Rosie, brushing his shoulder against hers as he spoke to Casey. “You could have a car like this at your disposal every day.”

“That’s slick.” Rosie spoke through gritted teeth, trying to ignore how his eyes sparkled when they looked at her. “Now you’re bribing me?”

“It’s not a bribe.” Hudson smiled. “It’s a perk.”

They passed Chin-Chin’s and Rosie suppressed sounds of annoyance.

“I want the cartoon with the mermaid. The one you like.” Casey swung his feet, trying to reach the seat in front of him. “Mommy likes it because the mermaid falls in love. We don’t have a daddy.”

Rosie put a hand on one of Casey’s thin legs. “Settle down. You have to be on your best behavior in the store. No running, use your quiet voice and stay with me.”

Graham pulled into a small parking space in front of the video store. The rain was still coming down. And down. And down. Today wasn’t Rosie’s day for breaks.

“You can wait here,” Rosie said to Hudson, trying to make it sound more like a command than an option.

“And miss out on mermaids? Not a chance.” Hudson’s grin was unexpectedly mischievous.

That couldn’t be. Hudson was the somber, straight-laced, unlikable McCloud. And Rosie wanted him to stay that way.

CHAPTER FOUR

“CASEY MENTIONED you’re having pizza for dinner,” Hud said as they pulled up in front of Rosie’s apartment. “I like pizza.”

“Are you trying to come over for dinner? ’Cause my mom says you need to wait to be asked.” Clutching his movies, Casey’s eyes were uh-oh wide at Hud’s transgression. “Besides, those are work clothes. We don’t eat in work clothes.”

Strike one.

“How about if dinner is my treat? There. I asked you to dinner, not the other way around.” He turned, his face inches from Rosie’s and let his gaze drift to her lips. They were incredible, kissable lips. Surely, she knew that.

Without looking at him, Rosie ran her tongue across her bottom lip and shook her head.

Strike two.

Pointing at his mother with his thumb, Casey explained in a whisper, “That usually means no.”

Strike three.

Hud wasn’t much of a baseball fan, but he needed a second chance at bat. As soon as the car stopped, he leapt out and opened his umbrella, then bent over to help Rosie out, taking her petite hand in his. She lifted her head to look at him as they stood huddled together in the shelter of the umbrella, the rain a curtain around them. And there it was—the spark.

“We can’t leave things like this,” Hud blurted. He meant the endorsement of the party, of course.

There they stood, staring at each other as if they were lovers and this was the last time they’d see each other. Her riotous curls had become even wilder during the day and framed her face in a way that made her dark chocolate eyes seem huge. If he hadn’t been holding her hand between them, he might have reached up and brushed a curl off her cheek. All in the name of keeping her off balance, of course.

With a shriek of excitement, Casey hopped out and ran across the sidewalk into the apartment building foyer. He held the door open by leaning at a forty-five degree angle. “Mommy, come on.”

Rosie blinked and let go of Hud’s hand.

“He’s a great kid,” Hud said. He’d always heard moms were suckers for a compliment about their children.

“Nice try, but the answer is still no.” She started for the door, leaving him no choice but to follow with the umbrella.

Hud took over doorman duties from Casey. Rain bounced off the ground angrily. Barefoot, Rosie stood in the foyer clutching her bag containing his file and those shoes of hers she protected like the crown jewels. Casey bounded up the stairs while their gazes locked once more.

“We’ll meet again,” Hud promised.

“I think not.” Rosie turned and headed toward the stairs.

Turn around. If she looked once more, he had a chance. At what, he wasn’t sure.

Turn around.

Rosie hesitated on the fifth step, but she didn’t look back. And then she continued to climb. Hud let the door swing shut and retreated to the car.

“Where to?” Graham asked.

“Home.” To change. It was pizza night and, according to Hud’s source, nobody ate pizza with work clothes on.

LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, Rosie pounded across her apartment’s hardwood floor in blue jeans and a T-shirt, mumbling, “That better not be Hudson McCloud.” She yanked open the door.

An umbrella with ducklings on it clattered to the parquet floor. Looking like a gypsy with her dark hair beneath a scarf, Selena held up hands splattered with neon blue paint, dropping a leash as she did so. “We come in peace.”

Something big, furry and four-legged bumped Rosie out of its way.

“Wet dog! Wet dog!” Selena ran inside the apartment after him, clumping across the floor in purple plastic rain-boots adorned with leaping frogs. “I’m sorry. I should have held on to the leash.”

Casey was giggling even though Axel had him pinned against the couch and was trying to eat what was left of his cookie. Rosie ran to get a towel. When she returned, Selena was still trying to control the overly friendly beast.

“Here.” Rosie tossed a towel over the dog’s back just as he started to shake the water out of his fur.

Chaos erupted and Rosie ran to get more towels amidst Selena’s apologies.

“Now that Drew is too old for anything that isn’t played with a ball, I brought over the finger-paint set that used to be his. It’s great for rainy days,” Selena explained. Rosie envied the way Selena handled everything with Drew confidently, as if he were her second, not her first and only, child. Selena coaxed Axel into laying down and began rubbing his belly. “I didn’t mean to unleash Axel on you, but he had to go out and I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

“No harm done.” Holding a towel, Rosie scanned the living room for more water to wipe up.

“Really? You looked like you were going to kill me when you opened the door.”

“She thought you were the mayor,” Casey said, tossing a towel on the floor.

“Oh, wow. Today was the day you met the McClouds. How did that go?” Selena dropped her voice. “Was Hudson as handsome in person as he is on camera?”

Rosie chose to overlook this last question. “I turned them down.”

“Then who were you expecting?” As soon as Selena stopped rubbing Axel’s stomach, the near pony-sized dog rolled to his feet, ready for action.

“The mayor,” Casey repeated as if Selena was missing something obvious.

“Hudson gave us a ride home and told Casey—repeatedly—that I was going to help him get elected mayor.”

“And my mom doesn’t lose.” Casey spoke with pride, making Rosie smile and hug her little champion.

“You know, Rosie,” Selena began, rising to her feet. “A lot of the candidates you take on have a strong sense of ethics and truly want to help people, but just once, for me, could you back someone single and gorgeous, like Hudson McCloud?”

Rosie laughed despite the drama of the day. “How can you expect me to offer you tea after a remark like that?”

“Just because we’re single parents doesn’t mean we don’t date.” Selena paused to smile slyly. “Oh, I forgot. You took an oath of celibacy when you had Casey.”

“What’s sell-basey?” Casey asked with a confused expression.

Selena bent down to Casey’s level. “It’s another word for loneliness—”

“Stop, stop, stop. Don’t you have a dog to walk?” Rosie pointed to the door.

“I’ll go, but remember one thing.” Selena held up a finger. “Because you didn’t back Hunky McCloud, you missed out on the perfect opportunity to date him and for him to introduce your friends to all his single, rich friends.” Selena batted her eyes.

“I don’t want to date him or his friends. He’s not my type or yours, either.” Hudson was off-limits in more ways than one. She hadn’t told her friends who Casey’s father was, so she didn’t expect Selena to understand. “Hudson didn’t pass the criteria for a candidate. What makes you think I’d date a guy like that?”

“The way he looks, I’d let that criteria slide.”

“I’ll see you Thursday at Margo’s.” Thursday night gatherings at Margo’s Bistro had become a ritual for a handful of friends who shared the challenges of single parenthood. Well, at least until recently, when three of the friends—Margo, Nora and Derrick—had found someone special to share love and parenting with. Rosie opened the door for Selena, knowing she hadn’t planned to stop long anyway. “Thank you for the paints.”

“And the advice. Don’t forget to thank me for the advice.” Selena grinned as she dragged Axel out the door and down the back stairs to the alley where she’d parked her car.

“TIME TO PLACE our order, Case.” Rosie dug her wallet out of her purse. Pizza night meant descending the stairs to Chin-Chin’s to place their dinner order.

“All right.” Casey rolled off the couch where they’d been watching a movie together and where he’d contracted a severe case of bed-head.

“Go brush your hair.” Rosie pointed to the bathroom. She’d pulled hers back into a simple ponytail.

“Mrs. Chin doesn’t care how I look,” Casey pouted, dragging his feet down the hallway.

“But I do,” Rosie called after him. When Casey wasn’t presentable, Rosie felt as if every parent judged her and found her lacking.

They placed their order, but not before Mrs. Chin, grandmother of twelve, chastised Rosie for not making Casey eat something more nutritious—“Maybe squid? Or shrimp on his pizza?”—which caused Casey’s stress level to ratchet to Defcon 4, more commonly known as wailing-and-close-to-tears. Drained, they climbed up the creaky wooden stairs with their salads to their apartment with the promise of a phone call when their pizza was ready.

As they began eating their ordinary lettuce with ranch dressing, Rosie started to regret missing her meal at Plouf, which made her think of Hudson once more. The man had hardly left her thoughts all afternoon. Why couldn’t Hudson see he had no future in politics if he didn’t open up and explain his past? And why had Hudson awakened her hibernating libido?

“Mommy, why can’t I have a little brother? Everyone else has one.” Casey blinked in faux innocence as if it was the first time he’d asked.

The question was loaded with pitfalls, so Rosie set aside thoughts of Hudson and considered her words carefully. “First off, not everyone has a little brother. I don’t.”

“You don’t count.” Casey was quite good at pouting. If she wasn’t his mother, she might have fallen for that look and felt sorry for him.

“Secondly, you need a daddy around to get a little brother. I’m afraid it’s just you and me.” She’d told Casey his daddy had gone to heaven. Thankfully, he hadn’t ask many questions about Samuel. Rosie dreaded the day when she had to explain she hadn’t known Casey’s father well enough to find out if she loved him or not. Marriage had certainly never been discussed. She wasn’t going to be Casey’s best role model for abstinence.

“Why do you have to be so old?” Casey slumped and fingered a chess piece he’d brought to the table.

Considering Rosie was only twenty-nine, she gave her son the look of disapproval she’d learned upon seeing it so often from her own mom. It was the same look she’d given Hudson earlier.

“You’re not a kid, Mommy.” Casey squirmed, not willing to give up just yet. “I don’t have anyone to play with at home, not even a dog.”

“Oh, so it’s a choice between a dog or a little brother?”

“I’m bored all the time.” Casey caught her gaze as it drifted over to the window sill where the paintings they’d made this afternoon dried, and added petulantly, “And you’re always working.”

That was so unfair. Rosie pushed the lettuce around with her fork, refusing to let Casey see he’d upset her. She’d turned down numerous assignments because she couldn’t accompany candidates on most evening or out-of-state appearances. She tried not to work until after Casey went to bed. Rosie put her son first as much as possible and despite that he was still able to make her feel guilty.

Casey wasn’t about to let up. “Mo-mmy—”

Someone knocked on the door. If they weren’t busy downstairs, Mrs. Chin sometimes delivered.

“That’s our pizza. Why don’t you get out the plates, Case?”

“I hate setting the table.” Casey crossed his thin arms over his chest.

“It’s only two plates. You’d hate it more if you had another place to set…say for a little brother.”

“PIZZA’S HERE.” Hud held up the take-out boxes when Rosie’s face didn’t register a warm smile of welcome. She wore relaxed blue jeans and a short T-shirt that hugged her curves, but Rosie seemed wound up tighter than the curls she’d caught in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. “I ordered breadsticks and noodles, too.”

“Is that the mayor?” Casey peeked from behind the door.

Rosie scowled at Casey’s reference, while Hud’s smile widened.

“Hey, you don’t have work clothes on.” The boy wiggled past Rosie’s leg and took in Hud’s jeans and sweater with an approving nod. “We already watched the videos, so you missed out.”

Given Rosie’s closed expression, the boy was going to be his best bet to get inside. Hud bent his knees to bring him closer to the kid’s level. “I offered to buy you dinner. But when I stopped in downstairs they said you’d already ordered, so I did the next best thing—I delivered it.”

“You shanghaied our dinner?” Rosie crossed her arms over her chest.

Kneeling at her feet, Hud gave Rosie his most charming grin. “I told you we had to talk. I’ll let you have your food if you let me in.”

“Are you someone’s daddy?” Imitating his mom, Casey crossed his twiglike arms over his chest. Hudson recognized the calculating expression on the little guy’s face. “I don’t think you are ’cause daddies don’t steal people’s pizza.”

“I’m not a daddy,” Hud confirmed with a wink. “And it would only be stealing if I ate it all myself.”

“Good, ’cause my mommy’s sell-batey and I don’t have a little brother.” Casey’s long face split into a grin as he gazed up at Rosie. “I like the mayor.”

Hud straightened and tried to look innocent, wondering what “sell-batey” meant in adult speak.

“Casey,” Rosie warned. She seemed more tense than when she’d first opened the door.

The kid stood at attention and tried to tow his mother’s line. “Leave him outside, Mommy. We can call the cops. Stealing isn’t nice.”

“I agree,” Rosie said, reaching for her pizza with a dangerous gleam in her eye. “Hand over the food slowly and no one gets hurt.”

Hud took a step back, his mind racing. He could see the small table behind them with two take-out containers with salad, glasses of milk and a chess piece. Gambling, Hud appealed to Casey again. “Tell you what. If you let me in, I’ll play a game of chess with you.”

“You play chess?” the little guardian asked with interest.

“I haven’t played in a long time, but I still remember how.” Things were looking up. “It was one of my favorite games as a kid.”

Casey tried pushing the door open wider but Rosie held firm. “You can’t con your way in by sweet-talking my five-year-old.”

In spite of the stakes, Hud was enjoying their wrangling.

“What does con mean?” Casey asked before Hud could regroup.

“He’s trying to trick you. I doubt he knows how to play chess.”

With a gasp, Casey shook his finger at Hud. “Lying and stealing aren’t nice. Mr. Stephanopolis at the park is good at chess. He doesn’t lie and he’s better at chess than you.”

“Probably.” Hud looked at Rosie. “I bet Mr. Stephanopolis never stole someone’s pizza.”

Rosie shook her head, but her expression wasn’t as foreboding as before.

“Mr. Quan at the senior center is better than you,” Casey continued.

“Most likely.” This had not been the best of days for Hud’s ego.

“I could beat you in less than ten moves.”

Hud didn’t skip a beat. “You could probably beat me in five.”

Rosie’s little doorman grinned. “That would be so cool.” Taking Rosie by surprise, Casey stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

“I’LL GET THE CHESS SET.” Casey scampered down the hall to his room as Hudson elbowed his way into her home and shut the door.

Rosie blocked Hudson’s path to the table. He loomed above her wearing the victorious grin of the devil wrapped in a rain-splattered jacket and blue jeans. “Of all the low creatures on the planet, you have got to be the lowest. Manipulating a little boy like that—”

“Any manipulating was purely on Casey’s part. That boy definitely inherited your political savvy. You didn’t see that coming, did you?” Hudson moved to the left, but she sidestepped.

Rosie didn’t want to think where Casey’s skills came from or fall prey to the impulse to laugh with Hudson at Casey’s cleverness. “Why don’t you just hand over the pizza and make your apologies?” She reached for the box again, but Hudson lifted it out of her grasp. With a glance behind her, Rosie lowered her voice. “He’s sharp, but I’ll look like the bad guy if I ask you to go. A gentleman would leave.”

“I think we’ve already established that you don’t believe I’m a gentleman.” Hudson moved to the right, but so did she. “I didn’t have lunch and I’ve been holding this very tasty-smelling pizza so long, I could eat the box. So if you could save your remarks until I’ve had a couple bites, I’ll be more able to defend myself.”

“I don’t want you to be able to defend yourself.” It was bad enough she was constantly on guard around him.

“Afraid you won’t be able to argue your way out of this? All you’ve done today is run away.”

Rosie was so flabbergasted that Hudson managed to get past her. She followed him to the kitchen. “I had to leave our meeting because I had a lunch appointment. I had to leave my lunch meeting to pick up Casey.”

“You forgot to mention how you fled upstairs instead of standing your ground with me after the video store. See? Running.” Hudson put the food on the counter and began opening her cupboards. “Where are the plates?”

“I’m not getting rid of you until I hear you out, am I?”

“No.”

With a sigh, Rosie admitted defeat and gave Hudson a plate. “We drink milk with dinner. You aren’t allergic by any chance…?”

“No.” His triumphant smile transformed his otherwise stern face. “We’ll talk after I play chess, right?”

“What choice do I have?”

“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO let me win, are you?” Casey scratched his head, sending a lock of hair sticking out as he leaned over the chess board.

They sat at the small oak kitchen table with the undersized living room to one side and the miniscule kitchen to the other. As big as Hud was, he should have felt cramped. Instead, it felt welcoming. Rosie’s home was an eclectic mix of San Francisco’s cultures—from a tie-dyed tea towel in the kitchen to a Chinese calendar on the wall to a large abalone shell on the mantel—set against more traditional furnishings.

“Do you want me to let you win?” They’d only just started the game and Hud wanted to know the rules early. Although Rosie was in the living room reading the paper, Hud could tell she was listening.

Casey looked up from studying the board. He’d inherited his serious brown eyes from his mother. “No. I can’t get better if you let me win.”

“You need to earn it,” Hud agreed. Still, he hoped the kid was sharp enough to beat him if he played sloppy.

Casey nodded and returned his attention to the board.

After some consideration, Hud moved his queen—in this case the salt shaker since Casey couldn’t find the white queen—out onto the board. He’d already advanced a couple of pawns and a knight. Five moves in and Hud hadn’t lost yet.

“You don’t think ahead,” Casey noted, inching a pawn forward.

“I’m not afraid to put my power pieces into play.” Hud sent his bishop out to take Casey’s pawn.

“That won’t win games.” Casey took Hud’s bishop with his knight. “Check.”

Hud hadn’t seen that coming. Was he going to be defeated in ten moves?

Later, after Casey had beaten Hud twice in less than twenty moves, Hud was that much closer to a straight conversation with Rosie. She poured coffee into mugs and tried to send Casey to the bathtub.

“Just one more game, Mommy.” Casey sat in a chair at the table with his head on his arms, looking up at Hud as if he was Casey’s hero. It felt nice.

“Bath tub.” Rosie put an edge on the command. “This is the second time I’ve asked.”

Casey slid out of his chair and ambled toward the hall, touching the couch, the curio cabinet and the television as if searching for a reason to pause.

“Go,” Rosie ordered. When he was gone, she admitted, “Sometimes I feel like such a bad mom. I’m constantly nagging and worrying and late…” She trailed off.

“He seems like a good kid to me. I haven’t seen him throw himself on the ground in a screaming fit or pick his nose.”

The sound of water thundering into a bathtub was muffled by a door closing.

“Let’s hope you don’t see that.” Her smile included Hud, which was a refreshing change from the dagger-filled expressions she’d given him earlier today. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.” She looked worn out, more in need of a glass of wine than coffee. “Should you be drinking that stuff this late at night?”

“Are you kidding? After Casey goes to bed my second shift starts. I work every night until about midnight.” Rosie’s admission came as no surprise. She’d gotten far for one so young. She brought him a mug with a Chinese proverb on it—A fall into a ditch makes you wiser.

Well, he’d already fallen and considered himself bruised, but less gullible.

“You can’t get ahead without putting in the extra time.” Rosie sat across from him.

“I know that.” Here was the opening he’d been looking for. “I’ve spent all week looking critically at the situation in the city. I have several ideas—”

“Before you go any further, let’s go back to the two obstacles you’ll need to overcome—the allegations behind your resignation from the Senate and—”

“If you insist on telling me that I have no personality after the day we’ve had, I may have to call in character witnesses.” Hud couldn’t believe how closed-minded Rosie was being about this.

“You’re missing the point completely.” Rosie covered his hand with hers ever so briefly, but long enough to stir his pulse. “In the public’s mind you’ve become this icon of wealth and power. You’re a myth, a fairy tale.” Avoiding his gaze, she added cream to her coffee. “You lock yourself away in a tower, don’t grant interviews, don’t admit to missteps or misfortunes. Of course, the voters can’t identify with you.”

Hud’s face felt wooden. “So you think Roger Bartholomew is a better choice?”

“It would be more to my liking if Roger switched parties and ran for the Republicans.” Rosie still wouldn’t look at him, paying careful attention to the sugar she was adding to her mug.

Relief deflated some of the fight out of him. Hud sat back in his chair and reached for his coffee.

“What is wrong with getting up close and personal with the public? You’ve been in my face all day, and let me tell you, that was quite a surprise.” Rosie laughed softly, almost to herself. “I had no idea that you were so…”

“Determined? Driven?”

Rosie looked at him levelly then said, “I was going to say creative and ballsy. I wouldn’t have approached a rejection quite the way you did.”

“But it worked.” At least, so far. Promising things were lurking just beneath the surface between them.

She shook her head. “I didn’t think you were like your brother in any way, but you are.”

“You knew Samuel?”

“Mommy, come shampoo my hair.”

Rosie held her coffee mug midway to her lips, as if she realized she’d said more than she should have.

CHAPTER FIVE

“DID THE MAYOR leave yet?” Casey asked, sailing a pirate ship in the bubbly water.

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