Problem? Hell, a tornado had torn through their lives. He found himself second-guessing the decisions he’d made from the age of twenty-five when he’d met and married Sarah, not to mention what he’d done after her presumed death.
Friends kept saying the worst was behind him and Angelina. Really? So why did he feel as if he was merely waiting for the other shoe to drop?
“Stop pacing! You’re driving me crazy.” Angelina moved past him to pour herself a drink.
Buckmaster watched his wife in surprise. Angelina had never been a drinker other than an occasional glass to be social. “Pour me one, too.”
She turned to look at him but said nothing before turning back to make them both a drink. “I’ve been thinking about our future.”
Their future? “If this discussion is going to be about Sarah again—”
“It’s not.” She handed him his drink and took hers to the couch. She didn’t speak again until she’d sat down, run a hand down the length of her skirt and taken a sip of her cocktail. Her gaze was clear and steady as she looked up at him. “Are you going to withdraw from the campaign?”
It was the last thing he’d expected her to ask. He’d thought everything that had happened would have made the decision for him. Of course, it had come out that Sarah hadn’t braked before she drove into the river twenty-two years ago. He’d thought for sure his poll numbers would have plummeted to the point that it would be ridiculous for him to stay in the race.
But people actually felt sorry for him. They admired him for trying to do the right thing in a difficult situation.
“Your numbers are good, better than good,” Angelina said. “Even my brother’s actions only strengthened your platform.”
He shook his head, wondering how she could go on as if nothing earth-shattering had happened. What he hadn’t known—and the press still didn’t—was that Angelina wasn’t the only one being blackmailed by the now dead Drake Connors. Her brother, Lane, had tried to hide his affair with the man. Realizing Drake planned to expose both him and his sister, he’d agreed to pay the blackmail, only to meet the man along a deserted road nearby and shoot him twice in the back. To avoid a trial and likely a lifetime in prison, Lane hung himself in his jail cell.
“I don’t understand why we’re having this discussion now. I’m in the race. Angelina, what is it you’re so afraid of?” Buckmaster demanded.
Tears filled her eyes. “Other than you leaving me for Sarah?”
He opened his mouth to assure her but closed it. He cared too much about her to lie to her. He had no idea what the future held for the three of them.
“My other fear? That you’ll be like your father and back out of the presidential race at the last minute. Like you, he was in a position where he could have taken the presidency. And then he just up and quit without any real explanation.”
Buckmaster didn’t know any more than anyone else about his father’s sudden decision. “When my mother died, he must have felt as if he’d lost everything.”
“I’ve often wondered if Sarah didn’t get the idea to drive into the river from your father.”
“He didn’t try to kill himself. He’d been drinking, grieving, he was—”
“Brokenhearted over your mother’s death.”
Buckmaster sighed. The last place he wanted to go was down this particular trail. “Angelina, why do you keep digging up the past?”
“Why do you?” she shot back. “Oh, that’s right, Sarah dug herself out of her grave to force us all back into the past.”
“I thought this wasn’t going to be about Sarah,” he chided her.
“The past seems to have a way of repeating itself. There was a rumor that your father had another woman in his life, and that’s what killed your mother.”
He groaned. “A rumor. As far as I know, there was nothing to it. You know how these things get started. But I still don’t see what any of this has to do with us.”
“You don’t see the similarities? You are primed to become the next president. There is another woman in your life. Who says you won’t bail at the last minute like he did?”
“I’m not going to bail. You’re not going to die. I’m not going to get drunk and roll my pickup and end up in the Yellowstone River.” He stepped to her to place his hands on her shoulders. “Have a little faith that things are going to turn out fine.”
“I’m scared something terrible is going to happen,” she whispered as she looked up at him.
He hated that he’d felt the same way for some time now. “Like what?”
Angelina shook her head. “I just have this feeling...”
He wished he could alleviate her fears and his own.
She stepped away from him, finished off her cocktail and straightened. “You are still in a position where you can have everything you’ve dreamed of.”
Not everything, he thought as he took a sip of his drink. The liquor burned all the way down. The only way he could have the presidency now was if he stayed with Angelina, and she knew that. He couldn’t win without her. He especially couldn’t win if he left Angelina for Sarah.
He felt as if he had made a deal with the devil.
* * *
“THE FBI DOESN’T seem to think there’s a problem with Sarah Hamilton,” Undersheriff Dillon Lawson said as he came into his boss’s office and closed the door.
Sheriff Frank Curry waved him into a chair. “So that’s it?”
Dillon shrugged. “They seem to agree with the media that she had an unfortunate accident and may have some mental issues, and they don’t really feel it’s necessary to put any manpower into finding out where she’s been for the past twenty-two years. The general feeling is that she might have had postpartum depression, and that’s what drove her attempted suicide. Her failure to end it all made her take off, possibly with help, and start her life over.”
“And how was she supposed to start her life over without any money or a place to stay?” Frank demanded. “She couldn’t even get a job without a Social Security number.”
“She could have gotten a false identity. You know it isn’t that hard. Maybe whoever helped her leave Beartooth also helped her obtain the documents,” Dillon said. “As for money...she must have had some help there, too. She doesn’t appear to have been cleaning motel toilets all these years.”
Frank knew he had a point. There were ways to get by, especially for a woman. “So why come back now? And why drop in the way she did?” When he’d investigated the spot where Russell Murdock had found Sarah, he’d walked back into the woods. The area was isolated—only one road, no houses, not even a nearby ranch or farm. What he discovered was a paratrooper-type parachute caught in the trees. Sarah’s DNA had been on the chute’s harness.
“Why now? That’s the million-dollar question and the one that has you worried, I suspect,” his undersheriff agreed.
Frank shook his head. “Not just anyone gets dropped out of a plane in the middle of nowhere without any memory of the past twenty-two years.”
“I’m sure you’ve considered that she might be lying about her...amnesia.”
Frank let out a laugh. “The press definitely has. As you said, they consider her an unhappy wife with mental issues. Women especially have turned against her because