The Boss and His Cowgirl(45)

“And you know she’s like the little sister none of us had. We’re all a little protective of her.”

Clay glared at both men. “And I’m not?”

“Dang, ol’ son,” Boone murmured. “This is real.”

He didn’t reply. He had nothing to say.

* * *

The three of them plotted long into the night before the cousins crashed in his guest rooms. Clay slipped into his bedroom. He stood next to the bed, watching Georgie sleep, and doing his best to breathe around the knot in his chest. He was not his father. He would fight for the life of the woman he cared about. He did care, knowing that’s all he was capable of. At the moment, loving her—loving anyone—seemed beyond him.

Her handwritten words had shredded his gut. She believed she wasn’t good enough for him. Truth was, she was too good for him. Could he make a commitment to her? Would she refuse, thinking he asked only out of a sense of obligation and pity?

Georgie stirred, her hand reaching out to the spot where he normally slept. She might try to push him away when she was awake, but sleeping? She wanted him. He stripped quickly and slipped into bed beside her, gathering her close. She breathed a little sigh and settled against him, her head nestled on his shoulder. This is where she belonged.

He was a realist. He’d watched this damn disease ravage his mother. He’d watched her hair fall out, seen her lose weight until her skin hung off her bones, her lethargy. He’d listened to his father’s cruel remarks. He was not that boy anymore. He was a man—a man who would take care of his woman. No matter what.

She’d crept into his life. He’d barely noticed her that day when she appeared in the storefront campaign headquarters during his first House run. Boone knew who she was, recognized her potential. She’d been a sweet college kid with stars in her eyes. She’d worked grueling hours with no compensation. Her smile had turned shy whenever Clay spoke to her. But he’d started to notice her. She was good at what she did. And got better with experience. She worked as his state office liaison in Oklahoma City. When Boone suggested recruiting her for the DC office, he agreed immediately.

And then she was just...there. Her smile still shy when turned his way, she always managed to fit in. She had become the little sister the Tate boys never had. Except he’d never looked at her like that. He wasn’t sure when he first noticed she was definitely not a little sister, but a woman with curves and green eyes that twinkled with mischief and humor. Over the years she worked in his office, he’d come to admire her talents—as a speechwriter and in the deft way she handled the media. He also realized she hid behind her black glasses, boxy suits and messy buns.

He appreciated her talents, and as he’d reminded Boone that long-ago morning in Scottsdale, he didn’t paddle in his own work pool. Until Georgie had taken the brunt of the attack by those protesters. Until she’d curled into his arms as he carried her up to his suite. Until she’d laughed and cried in the dark, sharing her fears with him.

Yeah, Georgie was his now and he would not let her go.

She moved beside him, murmuring his name.

“Shhh, darlin’. Go back to sleep.”

“S’everything okay?”

“I have you in my arms, sweet pea. We’re good.”

He felt her smile against his chest as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Sleep, Georgie. We’ll deal with tomorrow when it comes. Sweet dreams.”

“Love you,” she mumbled, unaware of what she said.

He lay awake, thinking about her words, before finally falling asleep just as the sun rose.

* * *

Boone and Hunt were sitting at the breakfast bar drinking coffee, a laptop open between them, when Clay shuffled in. He’d left Georgie sleeping, her lashes not hiding the deep shadows under her eyes. How had he not noticed how worn out and worried she’d been? Yes, she’d hidden her concern from him, but he should have realized something was more wrong than she let on. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He poured a cup of coffee and settled on a stool across the bar from his cousins.

Boone opened the conversation, but he didn’t quite meet Clay’s gaze. “The office knows we won’t be in today.”

“What now?”

Boone swiveled the computer, but before he could hit the play button, Clay’s cell phone rang, the words Chase calling flashing on the screen.

“You’re up early,” he stated with no preamble as he stabbed the speaker icon.

“Haven’t been to bed yet.” His younger brother was constantly in the tabloids. Head of Barron Entertainment, he flitted from Las Vegas to LA to Nashville. “But I’m not calling about me.”