Forbidden by Susan Johnson (best feel good books txt) 📗

past. "It's a thought," she casually said, her smile polite. Sitting down across from him in a comfortable Morris chair, she gestured to the liquor table under the window. "Help yourself. Or I could have coffee brought in." The courtesies attended to, she softly declared, "And tell me what you need."

"I'll take a bourbon if you don't mind," Martin replied, rising from the soft-cushioned couch to pour himself a generous portion. "Is it too early for you?" He knew she didn't drink at the office. His nervousness showed.

Perhaps she could have made it easier for him. If she wasn't beginning to feel the fatigue that always struck her after the adrenalin-induced energy necessary for court had begun to fade, she might have felt impelled to utter the polite preliminary phrases. Instead she spoke into the small silence after Martin sat down again, direct and to the point. "I don't bear you any grudge, Martin. My father and brothers will endorse your nomination. They might have reconsidered had I indicated I wished it, but I don't. You have my best wishes and my family's support."

Relief literally washed over the tanned, blue-eyed face opposite her. The rigidity of Martin's posture relaxed, the tenseness evident in his grip on the bourbon glass loosened, diminishing the whiteness around his knuckles. "You never seemed really interested," he softly said, his gaze holding hers, familiar, intimate, replete with memory, "or I would have waited."

The clarity of his remark struck her as uncomfortably true for a moment before she reminded herself of the pragmatic nature of Martin's marriage. "You're probably right," she diplomatically said, shaking away the shiver of remembrance, aware of the futility of arguing a lost cause. "And it certainly won't hurt to have a friend in the Treasurer's office."

His smile was genuine and cordial, his long-fingered hands stroking the heavy tumbler in comfortable rhythm as he leaned back against the black leather, at ease once again. "Come over for dinner soon. No other woman understands politics as well as you. My campaign could use you, Daisy. If you'd take the job, although I know what your commitments are, I'd ask you to be my campaign chair. Think about it. Don't say no immediately. We could arrange a schedule you could live with."

Daisy smiled at his enthusiasm. Political discussions had always been their closest bond. She wasn't unkind enough to mention his wife had warned her off in picturesque language that left no room for ambiguous interpretation. "He's wearing my brand now and off-limits," she'd bluntly said. Sally Newcomb knew she was having a bridegroom purchased for her and she was just enough of a spoiled bitch to think she could assure his fidelity as well. Although Daisy wasn't so certain Martin had sold his fidelity when he signed over his name to Sally. Certainly he hadn't wasted any time repairing his friendship with her, and if his political future required amicable gestures to other women less principled, she suspected Sally would have competition.

"As you know," Daisy replied, glad she had a legitimate, known excuse for refusing, "we're opening a new mine so I'm neck-deep in work. But thanks for the offer." She and Martin had been good friends, more than friends at times, and despite Sally's vivid characterization of her territorial prerogatives, they'd continue to be friends. Martin had an earnest boyishness she'd always found refreshing. "And tell Sally I'd love to come for dinner," she added, her smile innocent.

"Excuse me. I didn't know you had company."

The deliberate invasive tone didn't suit the courtesy of the sentence.

Two glances swiveled to see Trey standing in the doorway, his pale silvery eyes trained on Martin. Still formally suited for business in navy worsted, yet he conveyed menace and aggression as though he wore beaded leather and held a warlance in his hand.

"Sorry," Trey quietly added in a consciously much-delayed afterthought, his voice neither polite nor apologetic. Was Martin a welcome or unwelcome guest in Daisy's office?

"Martin was just leaving," Daisy said, which didn't answer his question but effectively removed the object of his query in any event. "I told him he could count on our support in his election campaign."

Taking his cue from hers, Trey smiled. Any need for chivalrous protection was apparently uncalled for. Daisy and Martin were reconciled and friends from the look of things. "Whatever we can do, Martin, just let us know," Trey offered, acknowledging Daisy's promise of aid. "Although Daisy's better at strategy than anyone else in our organization."

Having been politely dismissed, Martin drained his glass and set it down. "I was just trying to talk Daisy into taking on the position of campaign manager for me," he said, rising to his feet, his worn boots in stark contrast to the sumptuous carpet.

Relaxing against the soft cushion of her chairback, Daisy smiled up at the two tall men. "And I told Martin I'm scheduled for the next five years… or is it ten?" One dark brow lifted ironically. "Maybe Judge Nott's right. Pouring tea and playing the pianoforte would be considerably more relaxing."

"Since you fortunately don't have to consider ploughing the north-forty," Trey waggishly reminded her. Walking the small distance to her desk, he dropped into her chair and comfortably propped his booted feet on her immaculate desktop.

For the right man perhaps she would, Daisy realized in a rebellious inward reply. The revelation was startling. Which might explain why Martin's sudden marriage hadn't wounded her very deeply.

Her smile was automatic, concealing the intemperate direction of her thoughts—Absarokee culture abjured farming. "Give my regards to Sally," she heard herself saying, her words instinctive and mechanical.

Martin's hand gripping hers was warm, as she remembered.

They both smiled.

Waving from across the room, Trey said something, too, but Daisy wasn't listening. She was thinking: I should be sad and I'm not. It wasn't introspection but an observation only; Daisy wasn't introspective by nature. Like her father and brothers, she was motivated by action.

"You don't seem distrait," Trey quietly said after the door closed on Martin, pleased,