Page 38 of Tate
Elegant, in command, and the future president, if her mother got her wish. And frankly, she deserved it. No one got the job done like Reba Beckett Jackson.
“You two ladies look breathtaking.” Her mother came over and gave her husband an air-kiss, then slid her hand into his. “Thank you for being here for this.”
“I always knew you had it in you, RB.”
“Thanks, Mickey.” She blew out a breath, her only hint at nervousness, nodded to them and headed to the front door.
“What’s the big deal?” Cher said as she followed them out.
“She needs funds, and tonight there are a number of big donors as well as the other senator from Tennessee and a few congressmen. She’s hoping for their endorsement and the funding to give her the push to beat Senator Isaac White in the polls.”
“The conservative from Montana?”
“That’s the one. He’s Mother’s biggest contender.”
They followed Reba out of the house where two limousines waited. Glo headed for the second one while her father joined the senator in the first one.
“Why aren’t we riding together?”
Glo gave her a look. “Because my mother likes to arrive alone. I’m not sure why she’s letting Dad ride with her—maybe it plays well with the conservative audience. No one is supposed to know, maybe, that my parents have lived apart since I was sixteen.”
The limos were flanked on either side by their security detail, men dressed in tuxedos, wired up for communication, watching as she and Cher climbed into their transport.
They all looked alike. Clipped close haircuts, wide shoulders, sleek and powerful, and distant, and she couldn’t help but wonder what Tate would have looked like in a tailored tux.
Handsome to the bone, no doubt.
She slid into the car and scooted over for Cher.
Their driver closed the door behind them, and the parade set off.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ve never been to the Anderson estate?”
Cher shook her head.
“If our place is Southern plantation, the Andersons are all Edwardian pomp and glamour. I used to think it was the white house my mother kept referring to—it’s all white, with Palladian windows and a flat-roofed portico over the door. Inside, well,think massive chandeliers, Turkish carpets, so many rooms you can play hide-and-seek for hours.”
“You and Sloan?”
“We were ten. We also Rollerbladed down the main hallway. And their pool could host the Olympics.”
And since Cher had grown up in East Tennessee, in a tiny two-bedroom mobile home, her quietWowseemed understated.
But even with all the glamour of her mother’s world, Glo would still trade all of it for her breezy attic bedroom in the old Victorian her dad owned in Winona, Minnesota.
Three blocks from the Catholic university where he taught.
Maybe she should go home with him. Run from the ghosts that had followed her to Nashville.
Not to mention the ones that still prowled the estate.
Cher was quiet as they pulled into the long drive that led to the Anderson fortress. The sun was falling, the dinner slated for twilight on the massive patio that surrounded the pool.
White-gloved valets met their caravan, and while the security detail headed for the employee area, their personal detachment pulled up ahead of them.
She got out and noticed Sly, the head of security, stepping up beside her mother. She didn’t know who was assigned to her—probably one of the new guys he’d hired when she returned home. She didn’t bother to look as she and Cher headed inside.
