Melinda Curtis - The Best-Kept Secret

“Used to,” Rosie corrected him.

“I’m very driven. And I have lots of friends who find me intriguing.” Hudson hadn’t meant to let Rosie get to him.

“I call them as I see them.” Her voice was flat, as if she thought Hud’s political career wasn’t worth arguing about.

“And you know this by reading my file?” She didn’t know him at all. “Maybe there are things that aren’t in my file that might make you feel differently.”

“I’ve been trained to be a judge of what works and what sells in the system. It’s my professional opinion, nothing more.”

Rosie DeWitt didn’t know it yet, but her professional opinion was about to change.

Dear Reader,

I was excited to be included in the SINGLES…WITH KIDS miniseries. Having spent sixteen years as a working mom in the corporate world, I had a lot of history to draw upon, including that all-important network of other working moms who keep you sane. More important, I’d had these characters lurking in the recesses of my brain— Rosie and Hud, two driven, type A personalities who were used to being in the driver’s seat and were craving a book of their own. It’s a power struggle from the get-go and one neither intends to lose.

Only, these two didn’t count on sparks flying from the moment they shake hands. Or the way falling in love necessitates revealing the best-kept secrets.

I hope you enjoy Rosie and Hud’s story. I love to hear from readers, either through my Web site, www.MelindaCurtis.com, or through regular mail at P.O. Box 150, Denair, CA 95316.

Happy reading!

Melinda

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Melinda Curtis lives in Northern California with her husband, three kids, two Labradors, two cats and a circle of friendly neighbors who eagerly weigh in on everything from the best way to cut your lawn to the best haircut for a fourth grader—just what good friends are for!

To my family, who understand what it means

to have a working mom who might forget

dentist appointments, singes the garlic bread

and misplaces PE clothes. Your wit, eye rolls and

unconditional love keep me going.

And to Thelma, who taught me about blended

families, forgiveness and stuffing a bra.

You will be missed.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I NEED YOU TO DO something for me.” A small favor. A phone call. Still, it went against Hudson McCloud’s grain to ask anyone for help. It came down to this: swallow his pride and ask his mother for help…or wait. And Hud was done waiting.

“What is it?” Vivian McCloud turned from the skyscraper’s view of the turbulent waters of San Francisco Bay and the few sailboats that braved the post-Christmas Pacific Ocean tides. His mother had once been full of life, but the events of the past ten years had taken their toll.

And Hud was partially to blame.

He couldn’t turn back the clock and prevent the mistakes and losses he’d suffered from happening, but after two years of biding his time there was finally a chance he could restore his family’s honor.

Hud crossed the Oriental carpet in his mother’s office to the cabinet that held the TV and filled the room with a sound he had come to loathe—a newscast.

“…sad news for the city. San Francisco’s mayor was about to deliver a speech on the steps of city hall when he suffered a brain aneurism. The mayor was rushed to USF Medical Center and pronounced dead at ten a.m.”

Hud was silent as his mother came to stand next to him. As a young senator’s wife, she’d been a protégé of Jackie Kennedy both in politics and fashion. Despite her silver hair, she was still a striking presence in her classic suit and pearls. Her influence as the widow of a fifth-generation U.S. senator stretched across both parties, but it was a power she rarely used.

There was a long silence between them, as the news changed to the weather. She had to know what Hud wanted and how important it was to him, to the McCloud legacy.

When his mother didn’t speak, Hud smoothed his tie, cleared his throat and said quietly, “This is just what I’ve been looking for.”

His mother gave him a sharp look. “Another chance for you to be hurt?”

“It’s what I want.” It’s what he had to do. Hud muted the volume. He’d turned out to be the screwup in the McCloud family, not Samuel. How in the hell had that happened?

“You excel at running McCloud Inc. Any other man would try to be satisfied with the way things turned out.”

“But not a McCloud.” McClouds didn’t give up. His father had taught him that, along with duty before personal goals.

She sighed heavily. They both knew Hudson had sacrificed his own dreams for the sake of the family.

“I know the public thinks I failed.” These last words came out gruffly despite Hud’s resolve not to care what anyone else thought. He cleared his throat again. “But I can make it right this time.” Hud wanted his mother to be able to hold her head up once more, wanted to hear her laugh with unbridled joy rather than polite response.

“Mayor of San Francisco? The party would be foolish to consider you.”

And Hud was a fool to believe he had a chance. Still, he had one card left to play. “They won’t turn me down if you ask them. No one refuses Vivian McCloud.”

“ROSIE, YOU HAVE two calls waiting.” Rosie DeWitt’s assistant, Marsha, stuck her head in Rosie’s office. “Line one is Walter O’Connell.”

Just hours after the mayor’s death, the news media and political world was in a frenzy over who was going to run in the election to replace him. Since Rosie was one of Walter’s political strategists, he probably wanted her opinion. He might even want her to run the campaign for the Democratic candidate.

“Line two is Casey’s day care.”

Anxiety pulsed through Rosie’s veins. She set down her coffee and quickly pushed the button for line two. “Is Casey okay?”

“He’s fine, Ms. DeWitt.” Rosie recognized the voice of Rainbow Day Care’s principal, Ms. Phan. Casey attended the Rainbow center after school and during the holidays. “I just wanted to make sure we get our school play on your calendar in late January.”

Ouch. She’d missed the last play when Walter had asked Rosie to accompany him to Washington to evaluate several candidates for office. She glanced at a photo of her and Casey from last summer. Heads close, they had the same black curly hair, dark brown eyes and energetic grins. Was she letting him down as Ms. Phan always seemed to imply? Sometimes Rosie felt as if she were trying to sail the SS Motherhood beneath the Golden Gate Bridge without a working rudder. No matter how hard she tried to be a good mother, life seemed to conspire against her.

Rosie dutifully penciled the play on her calendar and assured Ms. Phan she’d be there this time.

“And I’m sure you won’t be late tonight to pick up Casey. It is New Year’s Eve, after all,” Ms. Phan added. “Once parents begin picking up their children Casey becomes a clock watcher.”

To her credit, Rosie didn’t snap a pencil or a sharp retort. She did, however, reach for her coffee. Just holding the warm ceramic mug settled her nerves.

Planning strategy, drafting legislation and writing speeches for candidates and incumbents often meant Rosie was late to pick up her kindergartener. She’d learned to leave money in her budget for the late fees she incurred from Rainbow on a weekly basis. What she hadn’t completely mastered was the art of filtering all the advice she received about parenting without taking offense or feeling as if she and Casey needed to go to counseling. They were doing the best they could.

Rosie told Ms. Phan she’d be there before five o’clock closing, then paused to take a sip of coffee before she shifted back to professional mode.

Pressing the button for line one took her to California’s power player. “Walter, how are you?” She caught the dinosaur Democrat in midcough. He was currently serving as the chairman of the Democratic Party for California. With Walter’s approval—and increasingly Rosie’s—candidates were groomed by the party for various positions throughout the state.

“A day short of the grave, as usual. Can’t seem to shake this cough,” he grumbled. “How’s it feel to be a backup singer for Senator Alsace?”

“I’m just biding my time until the next political race.”

“Ha! Your search for the right candidate is over. Win this one and you can write your own ticket.”

“You’re going to run for office?” Even as Rosie joked, she was intrigued. Deals were how the American political system worked and how those involved got ahead.

Walter chuckled, a gruff sound that dissolved into another fit of coughing. “Perhaps you’ve noticed that San Francisco needs a new mayor.”

“There’s an opening for a squeaky clean candidate with aspirations of glory.” Rosie fidgeted in her seat, excited by the prospect of something new. “Who did you have in mind?”

“You win this one, Rosie, and you’ll have a spot on the presidential campaign.”

She’d dreamed of working on a presidential campaign since she was a kid. “Who?”

“Hudson McCloud.”

Rosie looked at the picture of her son again. The McClouds were the California equivalent of the Kennedys. Media followed their every step. Anyone who worked for the McClouds would receive the same scrutiny, and Rosie was fiercely protective of her privacy. She had to turn Walter down.

And yet, part of her yearned for the challenge. Pundits had dismissed Hudson McCloud’s career. The campaign would make national news and, possibly, a strategist’s career, as well. She would just have to work that much harder at keeping her professional life separate from her life with Casey.

“Rosie? Rosie, don’t play games with me. You won’t get another chance like this anytime soon.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Had Walter lost his mind? Had she? Rosie couldn’t quell her curiosity. “Why me?”

“Because you excel at advancing the underdog. Because you don’t sugarcoat things.” Walter coughed. “And because Vivian McCloud requested you.”

HUD SAT AT WHAT HAD once been his father’s desk, in what had once been his father’s chair, and perused a file of faded newspaper clippings by the light of a small desk lamp. Usually, his Queen Anne home, built after the 1906 quake, was never quiet. It groaned and shifted like a living thing. Tonight though, as if sensing Hud’s somber mood, not a board in the one-hundred-year-old house dared creak.

Tomorrow he’d find out if the party considered him salvageable. He’d left the string-pulling to his mother once she’d agreed to inquire about the Democratic leadership’s feelings toward him. But he had no idea who or what he’d face tomorrow. Would they welcome him back or challenge his interest in running?

Hud read the headlines of the articles he kept to remind him why he’d turned his back on his personal goals in the first place.

Hudson McCloud Flexes Power on First Day in Senate.