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She felt exposed.
That was not how this was supposed to work. She placed her hands palm down on the table trying to keep them still and, after a moment’s pause, his hand covered her agitated ones. She wasn’t a good personal storyteller—give her another subject, a person, an event, a complicated policy and she could spin out the words like they were tops. She’d rather he interview a dozen employees at the hotel and get more exciting tales. There had to be some out there. He’d just arrived so quickly, she hadn’t had time to organize any suitable stories for Graff employees to share. Housekeeping seemed like a good bet. Shane at the bar would make for good TV.
“There’s more you’re not telling me.”
“You could have been a lawyer,” she said, “and chased criminals not ghosts.”
He pushed back from the table.
“No.” She practically lunged out of her seat to capture his wrists. She held tight. “I didn’t mean it like that, like how it sounded like hunting for ghosts is not a worthy occupation.”
His laugh was dark. “I know what you meant. But my profession chose me, but I can... no, I am choosing something different for myself.”
“What do you mean?” she whispered and swallowed hard to hide her nervousness.
She needed him, and that was a terrible thing.
I’ll be fine even if he doesn’t film here.
But that was bravado and arrogance talking, and both of those traits had not helped her land on her feet this year. The publicity buzz if he filmed at the Graff would be a boon for the hotel both in the short term and potentially the long term. She could include the link in any online marketing pushes. The Ghost Quests show was more than cultishly popular and was already syndicated even though it was still in production. Getting him to feature the hotel would make her feel like she was back on the path to success. Baby steps. Even a small feature could be advertised as a brush with celebrity.
And people loved celebrity.
“Walker,” Calum began right as the door to the café opened and a striking couple walked in—a tall man with longish honey brown hair and a beautiful woman with long auburn hair tumbling down her back. The woman laughed at something the man said, and their bodies bumped together as they walked in, as if they couldn’t quite separate physically from each other.
Another couple followed them, the four of them clearly together and Walker stiffened. She recognized the second man. Or knew of him. Kane Wilder, one of the top bull riders in the world. She’d seen him on a few television ads, a lot more print ads, especially cologne. She’d even seen him on a cereal box.
During one campaign a few years ago, when she’d been press secretary for her senator’s first reelection bid, she’d attended an American Extreme Bull Riding tour in Sacramento as a campaign stop for the senator to do a meet and greet with voters. She’d thought they’d leave before the show started, but no, for once they stayed. She’d read the bio of Kane Wilder and learned that while he’d been raised in Phoenix, his mother had deep roots in Paradise Valley Montana and that he intended to buy and run a big spread in Montana once he retired from bull riding.
He was young. Twenty-six, but in bull riding years that was middle age. She’d watched him ride, heart in her throat, and it had felt so strange knowing she was in the same building where a man, quite possibly her cousin, was competing life or death on the back of a massive animal whereas Walker barely got her hands dirty. The next night from her hotel room, online she’d watched him win.
She’d continued to follow his career off and on. She’d done enough research to know that Kane also had what her dad had told her were the Wilder eyes—pale blue almost grey or silver eyes. She had them. Rafe had them. Rafe was a firefighter. Kane a bull rider. Two dangerous professions. But she, the political aid or the political hack depending on who was telling the story was the one whose career had ended in flames.
She also knew that the AEBR finals were in a week or so. So, did Kane Wilder live in Marietta in the off season? And was she going to try to do anything about that like try to meet him? Her entire mind and body shied away from that. Too many explanations she didn’t want to give. Besides Rafe was in Australia. Whim was always someplace else. What did she have to offer Kane other than a blood connection with nothing else in common.
What if he thought she wanted a handout? Her soul shriveled at the thought.
Walker watched Kane while trying to look like she wasn’t watching. Something she’d perfected while the senator was making speeches. She had had to learn to read a room, read the press and the constituents, anticipate problems.
The longing that swept through her when she saw Kane slide his arm around the short woman with the wealth of long, dark hair and whisper something in her ear, even as he held the hand of what was clearly their little girl, was a fierce wave that made her ache. It shocked her. Family. Marietta. Roots. But none of it felt like hers. She’d been uprooted from her home when her father left and then she’d been forced out of DC and her condo in Alexandria. No roots. No place to call home. She couldn’t imagine feeling like she belonged here.
“Speak of the devil.” Calum watched the couples gather at the espresso bar. “It’s my friend, Laird Wilder. The one I came to Marietta to see before I got sidetracked by a beautiful woman and a creepy chair.”
Walker choked on her coffee.
He grinned. “Let me go say hi. I’ll introduce you.”
There were two of them. Two cousins. Were they brothers or cousins? They didn’t look that much alike other than the height. Suddenly there was no air to breathe. And as Calum strode toward the two men, both of them with insanely beautiful women and Kane with a kid, Walker couldn’t’ do it. Couldn’t pretend to be a stranger even though she was. Couldn’t pretend that all was right with her world when everything had gone so badly.
She clutched her Americano in her hand but like everything else in her life it had gone cold. Walker slipped out a side door.
