Hard Rain. B.J. Daniels
SENATOR BUCKMASTER HAMILTON rubbed his temples, his headache worsening. He caught his reflection in a wall of glass on the other side of the room. He was a big man who looked like the Montana rancher he was. His blond hair had grayed at the temples. He wondered if he’d be totally gray by the election.
Often, he feared he wasn’t cut out for this. He hated these staff meetings and all the minutiae that went with them. Angelina had always handled the things that didn’t require his personal attention, which apparently had been most everything. His appreciation of her had gone up tenfold since his wife’s death. No wonder the Silver Bow County sheriff still suspected him of her death. It was the guilt he felt that the sheriff was picking up on. The night of her death, he’d planned to tell her he was leaving her for his former wife, Sarah.
“It comes down to who can win,” his campaign manager, Jerrod Williston, was saying. “Everyone thinks you have the Republican primary in the bag. Not until you’re the nominee are we going to let up, though.”
Buckmaster half listened to Jerrod as he looked around the conference table. Angelina had handpicked everyone here from the finance director and press secretary to the field director, treasurer and volunteer coordinator. Under them were political organizers, schedulers, technology managers, office managers and legal advisers. Fortunately, Jerrod had stepped up since Angelina’s death, making it possible for him to stay on the election trail without facing a lot of the organization that came with such a huge campaign.
Angelina had hired Jerrod, saying he was the best. He’d only run a few other campaigns for presidential candidates, but he came highly recommended, according to her.
“He’s tough, but he has charm,” Angelina had said. “He’ll be dead honest with you about how the campaign is going, but lie like a pro on camera. And he looks damn good on TV. One look at him and you see a Republican.”
Jerrod looked like a movie star and dressed like a CEO. He was in his midthirties, had numerous degrees and spoke as if born with a silver spoon in his mouth. It was easy to see why Angelina had chosen him.
“He’ll get you elected,” she’d said as if there had never been any doubt.
“We’re out of the honeymoon period with the media,” Jerrod was saying. “They loved you, hung on your every word, treated you like the father they wished they’d had. But now that we’re coming down to the wire, every reporter assigned to you is waiting for you to screw up so they can get that sound bite. Be careful. Warn your family, too. This is the point where we have to be scandal-free. And that applies to everyone in this room.”
As the rest left, Jerrod brought him over two aspirin tablets and a glass of water. Buckmaster smiled and downed them.
“Not what you expected, huh?” his campaign manager said, pulling out a chair next to him.
He had to admit it wasn’t. He’d spent months traveling across the country, visiting foreign governments, eating on the run, sleeping in so many hotels that he often woke up and didn’t know where he was. He’d talked until he was sick of his own voice. “I thought that if I was elected, I could help my country. Make it a better place for my children and grandchildren. Do my part in making it a better world.”
Jerrod laughed. “A noble enterprise.”
“Is it?” he asked. “I read somewhere that this race between all the candidates is going to cost six billion dollars. Aren’t there places all that money could be better spent?”
“Look how many jobs a lot of us have because a bunch of men and women have decided to run for president,” Jerrod said with a laugh. “It’s democracy at work.” He got to his feet. “You’ll feel better after the primaries.”
“Only if I win,” Buckmaster said, and forced a smile.
“You will. I’ll see to that. In the meantime...”
“Right. Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“And keep those daughters of yours out of trouble.”
The senator got to his feet with a chuckle. “No problem. My six daughters have always been perfect in every way.”
Jerrod chuckled. “Right. Perfect angels. We’re so close now, we can’t let anything stop us.” He hesitated only a moment, his blue-eyed gaze sharpening. “I wanted to talk about your former wife.”
Sarah. The woman who, twenty-three years ago, had tried to kill herself, and failing that, had disappeared only to return with seemingly no memory of where she’d been or why she’d done what she had. Buck had hated her bitterly for leaving him to raise their six daughters alone. But when she’d returned from the dead after twenty-two years, he’d also realized that she was the only woman he’d ever truly loved.
“About Sarah...” Buckmaster said, but was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.
* * *
SARAH JOHNSON HAMILTON tried the number again. The wind had come up outside. She watched a dust devil whip across the yard of the old farmhouse. Closer, she studied her reflection in the glass. On the surface, she looked like a shy, fiftysomething, blonde, blue-eyed, ingenuous woman. Not like a woman who had dark secrets.
The phone at the other end rang a fourth time and then went to voice mail.
As grit pelted the front window, she stepped back and disconnected. She didn’t leave a message this time. Russell hadn’t called her back after her other messages. She doubted he would now.
Sarah knew she shouldn’t be calling Russell, especially after she’d broken their engagement. If Buck knew, he would have a fit and make more of it than it was.
She just needed to hear Russell’s voice and know that he was all right. But, if she was honest with herself, that wasn’t the only reason. After fainting at her daughter Bo’s wedding, she’d been running scared. Maybe there was more wrong with her than the neurologist said. Or maybe he was right, and it was all in her head.
She couldn’t remember why she’d fainted but when she’d opened her eyes, her daughter Kat had been leaning over her. “What?” Sarah had said at her daughter’s angry expression.
“She’s all right,” Kat said as she’d helped her mother to her chair. “Everyone just move back and give her some air. You, too, Dad.”
It wasn’t until they’d all stepped back that Kat had said, “Who was he? The man you saw standing outside the reception who made you turn ghost white and faint?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sarah had said. “I don’t remember seeing—”
“That’s right. You don’t remember anything,” Kat had said sarcastically.
She had gritted her teeth, reminding herself that Kat had always been the impossible child, but also one of the smartest. Kat had seen something. “What did this man look like?” she’d asked.
“Handsome even after all these years. He looked like your former lover from The Prophecy, Joe Landon. Ring any bells? No, that’s right, you didn’t recognize anyone in the photo I showed you. Not even the image of the alleged former Sarah Johnson. Or should I call her Red?”
She hadn’t recognized any of the people in the photograph—even the redheaded woman who held a slight resemblance to herself—let alone the handsome man standing next to the woman.
“Kat,” she’d said impatiently. “I wasn’t a member of some anarchist group.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Sarah. But you just saw one of the men and fainted. Try to explain that away.”
She’d been shaken throughout the rest of the wedding festivities and had had to hide it from her husband and her other