These Arms of Mine. Judy Lynn Hubbard
parted?
She mumbled a slight apology after nearly colliding with another pedestrian on the sidewalk, then continued on her way. She was almost there, and still she had no idea what she was going to say to him. She resolved to cross that bridge when she came to it and continued determinedly on her way to an unscheduled yet overdue meeting.
She pulled her light coat tighter around her as a biting blast of October wind forced its unwelcomed way in between the gaps of the coat’s loosely tied opening. Absent fingers brushed a stray strand of shoulder-length curly black hair, which had been loosened from its clasp by the teasing gust. What was she going to say? How should she begin? She rehearsed one scenario and then another, and another, yet she still had no idea what would come out of her mouth when she opened it.
Her hesitant feet suddenly stopped outside the forty-story building that was her destination. Craning her head, she glanced up the tall, foreboding black glass frame. She wondered, would the foe she must now face be as formidable and as unyielding? Lowering her eyes to the front door, she took another deep breath and exhaled it before walking through the double doors to face the fire, uncertain she could evade the scorching that was sure to come.
Chapter 1
Derrick Chandler stared in exasperation at the man sitting across from him. Why did campaign managers always have to try to change your life? He listened in annoyance as Cameron Stewart continued to tell him what he must do in order to win the Senate race, which he had recently entered.
He wondered why he hadn’t just stuck to corporate law instead of throwing his hat into the political arena. He decided the main reason was the city in which he resided—if you were a successful lawyer and lived in Washington, D.C., it seemed predestined that a foray into the world of politics would occur at some time or another.
Fingers absently tapped his chocolate-colored, clean-shaven chin impatiently and then brushed a piece of lint off the breast pocket of his immaculate navy blue suit. After Cameron talked until he was satisfied, then Derrick would have his say—the other man in the room would not be pleased with what he would hear. He disliked anyone telling him what he should and should not do, and Cam was treading on dangerous ground.
“Derrick, the simple fact is that you need a wife.” Cam succinctly summed up his ten-minute tirade.
Derrick bolted upright in his chair, his gray eyes growing hard and cold. His voice matched his angry countenance. “And you need a psychiatrist.”
Cam sighed audibly, not in the least put off by his friend’s frigid tone. “Just listen to me…”
“No, you listen to me.” Derrick held up a hand forestalling his friend’s words. “I tried the marriage scene once, and we both know what a fiasco that was.”
“Well, I told you before you married her…”
Derrick’s darkening eyes stopped Cam cold. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Cameron.”
“I know, Derrick, but just hear me out.” He quickly continued before his friend could object, “You hired me to increase your chances of being elected and, whether you like it or not, I’ve got to tell you what I think.”
“Well, I don’t like it, but if you want to hear yourself talk, be my guest.”
He scratched his lightly bearded chin. “We’re doing great in all demographics except for women.”
Derrick frowned. “I thought our numbers looked pretty good there.”
“Pretty good, but if you had a woman in your life, one who could relate with and talk to other women, one on one, about their concerns, I have no doubt our numbers would double.”
“Wouldn’t a female member of my staff work?”
“Please!” Cam’s look of disgust elicited a chuckle. “Man, this is America—the land of opportunity, the home of apple pie and baseball.”
Derrick rolled his eyes. “This sure sounds like a commercial.”
“With the election a little over a year away, now is the perfect time for you to be seen as someone who has deep ties to the community, someone who has something in common with his constituents, someone who shares their dreams and hopes. The best way to identify with them is to be seen as a family man.”
“You’re not married.”
“I’m not running for public office, either.” Cam folded his arms across his chest. “You are and you need someone, and not just any woman—a wife. Just think about it, a built-in hostess for parties and a date ready and willing to go with you whenever and wherever. I know I’m getting through to you.” Cam carefully studied Derrick’s purposefully unreadable expression.
“Wouldn’t a German shepherd accomplish the same thing as a wife?” Derrick smiled slightly.
Cam closed his eyes in frustration before quickly opening them again. “Will you try to see my point of view?”
“No, you try to see mine. I am not going to marry anyone ever again!” He deliberately emphasized each word.
Cam opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as a buzz sounded from the phone on the desk.
Derrick yanked up the handset impatiently. “Yes, what is it?”
He was more than a little annoyed—he had left instructions not to be disturbed.
“If she won’t tell you, then tell her I’m in conference and can’t be disturbed!”
He unceremoniously slammed the receiver back into its cradle. He made a mental note to apologize to Dorothy once Cameron left. He was in a foul mood, brought on by the other man’s ludicrous suggestion.
Cam was shaking his head disapprovingly. “People skills, Derrick. People skills!”
“What do I pay you for?” In spite of himself, he almost smiled at his friend’s dismayed tone.
“To tell you what others dare not.”
“Well, you certainly seem to enjoy that part of the job.” This time, a genuine smile tilted the corners of his frowning mouth.
“My mother always told me I love a challenge, and you certainly are that.” Cam picked up his briefcase and prepared to leave.
“Are we done?”
“Yes, we’re done. I’ll try to sell you on getting a wife later.”
“Oh, joy.” Derrick rose to shake his hand.
“Do you have anything else you need to talk to me about?”
“No, please go.” Derrick reclaimed his seat behind the desk.
“See you tonight at seven sharp.”
As Cam walked toward the door, Derrick grimaced at the thought of another political dinner/debate—he loved the debates, but he detested sitting around with strangers, making senseless small talk over steak or chicken that tasted like rubber and vegetables that had much in common with plastic.
“How could I forget?”
“Just be there, and on time.”
“Anything else, Mom?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. But I don’t have the strength to discuss it with you right now.” He ran a hand over his bald head. “I used to have hair before you and I became friends.”
“Later, Cameron.” Derrick’s sigh turned into a chuckle at the exasperated look he received before his friend left with a decisive click of the door.
Alone at last, he laughed out loud and ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. He enjoyed needling Cam, almost as much as he enjoyed his newfound career in politics. Best friends since law school, Derrick and Cam looked like brothers—each sharing the same dark coloring,