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The real question was, did he want to be vice president? Adam asked himself. He’d been preparing for just such an
offer most of his adult life. Why, then, did the reality fall so short of the dream?

He’d spoken the truth to Palmer. He had a lot of unfinished business with his California constituents. Yet, in his role as
second in command, presiding over the Senate should he and Palmer be elected, he’d possibly be able to exercise more influence
in getting some of his important bills passed. Perhaps he’d be able to help even more people in that new position.

Rising to his feet, Adam stretched out his hand toward Palmer. “All right. Count me in,” he said, surprising the other two
men in the room at his sudden decision.

“Well, that’s more like it,” Palmer stated, grasping Adam’s hand and shaking it heartily, then reaching to shake with Fitz.
“The convention’s in another three weeks. We need to get together for some briefings before then.”

“How’s it look, sir?” Fitz asked. “Would you say you’ve got enough delegates to secure the nomination?”

Palmer allowed himself a smug smile as he shifted his ever-present toothpick to the other side. “You bet your ass I do, son,
and then some.”

Adam was aware of Palmer’s propensity for coarse language, though the man was extremely careful never to turn the air blue
in public. Praying he hadn’t made a big mistake, Adam waited for Fitz to coordinate the time for their first briefing, then
turned to leave.

“That pretty little southern gal you’re married to is going to win us a flood of votes, Adam,” Palmer stated.

Adam supposed he was right. Diane was far better as a campaigner than a wife. “She’s looking forward to it, Senator.”

“I’ll take care of the press releases,” Palmer called after them.

“Fine,” Fitz said, then closed the door behind them. Letting out a tense breath, he clapped Adam on the back. “You did it,
bro.”

“No,
we
did it,” Adam said, walking briskly down the hallway. “The question is, did we do the right thing?”

“Hell, yes. Remember what we talked about earlier? You can’t make changes if you don’t get elected. I know Palmer has a lot
of rough edges…”

Adam let out a grunt.

“But we can work around all that.” Fitz opened the door to Adam’s office, then led the way inside and set his briefcase on
a chair.

Adam rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension before he sat down behind his desk. He checked his watch and saw it
was four on a Friday afternoon. A sudden thought, a restless need, had him staring out the window. “Maybe we should catch
a quick flight to California, hole up in the beach house, and plan our strategy so we’ll be ready for these so-called briefings.”

Fitz sat down, studying his brother, wondering where to begin, how to say what needed to be said. “Adam, do you realize that
as soon as you’re proclaimed the vice-presidential candidate the Secret Service protection will begin and you won’t have a
private minute?”

Adam watched a lazy cloud drift along in a summer sky. “All the more reason why we should take advantage of these last few
weeks.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Adam swiveled around to face Fitz. “Why not?”

“Because Palmer’s probably on the phone right this minute with the press. The Secret Service coverage may not begin until
after the convention, but the press will have wind of this within the hour and be on your tail. I know why you want to be
at the beach house, and you’ve got to give it up, Adam. You’ll not only hurt Liz, but you’ll blow the vice presidency. And
maybe your career, to say nothing of your marriage.”

He’d heard this sort of thing from Fitz before, just not quite so bluntly. And he knew his brother was right. It still
rankled. “Yes, by all means, I’ve got to safeguard my marriage.”

“You do now, whether personally you want to or not. Divorced senators don’t get elected to high office, especially not with
a man running as a ‘family candidate.”’

Adam leaned back on his chair, nodding. “I hear you.” His gaze shifted out the window again. What did it matter how much he
wanted to see Liz? In their last conversation she’d told him that she thought it best they stay away from each other. Even
if he flew back, she probably wouldn’t see him.

Too bad. He’d love to show her the inside of the beach house, the things he’d had remodeled. Far more gracious and permanent
than the term
beach house
indicated, it was a stately old home on the sea. The oak paneling in the library, the flagstone patio, the sunken tub in
the master bath—all were touches he’d added to enhance its charm. He loved that house, yet without the thought of seeing her,
he had little desire to go there. It seemed that not seeing Liz was beginning to taint his days and ruin his nights.

Fitz stood, clearing his throat to get Adam’s attention. “Am I getting through to you, Adam?” Had they come this far only
to have Adam blow it all over Liz Fairchild? Couldn’t he get a grip on his feelings and walk away the way Fitz had from Sandy
Wilkins years ago?

Adam turned and met his brother’s eyes. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t want to see me, so you can relax.”

“I’ve always said she’s a smart lady.”

“Yeah, smart.” The phone rang and Adam picked it up, clicking on the speaker phone. “Hello?”

“Sugar, I just heard the news,” Diane purred. “I’m so proud of you. Why don’t you come home early so we can celebrate?”

Fitz rolled his eyes at Adam as he left the room.

“It’s over,” Dr. Westmoreland said softly to Katherine, his hand on her shoulder in comfort. “Joseph is gone.”

He hadn’t died peacefully, Liz thought as she stood at the foot of the bed, dry-eyed after the long vigil. Her father’s face
was contorted, as if a part of him struggled to come back, to stay alive. Joseph Townsend had always been a fighter. She’d
known he wouldn’t give up easily, but the three-month battle had depleted the last of his waning energy.

“He looks angry,” Katherine whispered, stroking her husband’s hand. “As if he didn’t want to leave us.”

“I’m sure he didn’t, my dear,” Dr. Westmoreland assured her. “I’ll give you a few moments and see you downstairs shortly.”

“Thank you.” Katherine also had shed all the tears she had to give; her pale skin looked parchment thin, her eyes sad and
haunted. “Come, Sara.” She beckoned to her granddaughter, seated on the rocking chair on the other side of the bed. “Come
say good-bye to your grandfather.”

Reluctantly, almost fearfully now that there was no raspy breath coming from the man she’d spent hours watching over, Sara
stepped closer to the bed. Tears overflowed as memories crowded in on her.

Liz walked to her daughter and slipped an arm around her slim waist. “We have so many years of good times with Grandpa to
remember, sweetheart. That’s what we have to think about now.”

Sara nodded and clung to her mother’s hand.

Not wishing to prolong this scene for Sara’s sake, Liz stepped back. For too long they’d inhaled the smell of illness and
dying. They badly needed some fresh air. “We’ll go on downstairs, Mother, and stay with Dr. Westmoreland until you come.”
Quietly she and Sara left.

Katherine continued to stroke Joseph’s arm, so thin now compared with the hard strength she’d touched for so many years. Lightly
she smoothed his cheek, rearranged his hair, still thick and very white. She’d had months to prepare for this moment, and
they hadn’t been enough. If God were to
grant her but one more wish in her lifetime, she would ask Him to turn back the clock to the day she’d met Joseph Townsend
so that she could live every day with him all over again—despite all she knew, despite all the hard times.

From across the room, Nancy rose, her hands trembling. There were no tears on her face as she approached her father’s deathbed
from the other side. She stood looking down at the frail, silent man and felt her chin quiver as she struggled with overlapping
emotions. Anger, unfulfilled needs, a sense of injustice. “Why couldn’t you have loved me more?” she whispered.

Katherine looked over at her youngest. “He did love you, very much.”

Nancy swallowed hard. “I only heard him say it once.” One terrible afternoon that had changed her life. Only recently, after
countless talks with Liz, had she begun to think that, though her father had done some wrong things that day, he hadn’t been
responsible for her reaction or her behavior afterward. Desperately she longed to tell him she knew that now and forgave him,
that she wanted his forgiveness for all she’d put him and her mother through. Just once more, she wanted him to tell her he
cared.

“He told me quite often, Nancy,” Katherine said firmly. “You have no reason to think he didn’t love both you and Liz equally.”

God, she wanted to believe that. Bending her head, Nancy felt the tears fall at last.

Downstairs on the terrace, Liz stood looking out to sea, feeling more alone than when Richard had died. The doctor had left,
Mother and Nancy were still upstairs, and Sara was in her room on the phone. Four women, each without a man. It felt odd.

She, who rarely needed or wanted to lean on anyone, felt an overpowering urge this very moment for strong arms to hold her,
to comfort her, to make the sadness go away, if only for a little while. Liz was well aware she’d have to be
the strong one of the four, for her mother was worn out, Nancy was still shaky, and Sara was too young to be of much help.
She wished she had someone who would lend her the strength she would need to see to the funeral and the long weeks of recovery.

Unbidden, Adam’s face came into her mind. He had strong arms, and she longed to be in them. He had a take-charge personality,
and she wished she could hand over to him all the many details to handle. He’d once made her feel cherished, and she needed
that badly right now.

Yet he was another woman’s husband.

Wrapping her arms about herself, she lifted her face to a cooling breeze, wondering how long this aching void would haunt
her. She’d told him they shouldn’t, they mustn’t, see any more of each other or have any contact. Yet it took all the strength
she had not to go inside and call him, just to hear his voice.

He cared for her, she knew. But he cared for his career even more. Ambition had its tentacles twined around him tightly and
had since she’d met him, and before. He couldn’t walk away, nor would she ask him to. While he pursued his fierce dreams,
he couldn’t leave the wife he didn’t love. The White House was beckoning, and Adam would heed the call. It was in his blood,
she supposed. Even Fitz had inherited some of it.

Sighing, Liz turned as she heard footsteps coming downstairs. She would go inside, take care of the others, and make all the
arrangements. She would do the right thing, as she always did. Taking a calming breath, she left the terrace.

Adam studied the man seated across the desk from him. “Are you sure, Steve?”

Steve Quinlan shifted on the leather chair. “Yes. I know you’re getting ready to go to New Orleans for the convention, but
I needed to get this over with.”

He was soft-spoken and shy, a scholarly man, still unmarried.
He’d been one of Adam’s campaign workers for his election as attorney general in California and had gone on to work with him
in Sacramento, but when Adam had been elected to the Senate, Steve had opted to stay in San Diego to run his California office.
He’d been good at his job, very good. That was why Adam was so surprised that Steve had flown in especially to see him.

He set aside Steve’s brief letter of resignation. “Is anything wrong?”

Steve swallowed around a huge Adam’s apple. “No. You’ve been great to work with, and I’ve appreciated the opportunity. But…
well, let’s just say I’m burned out. It’s taken me a long time—I guess maybe I’m a slow study—but I’ve decided politics isn’t
the life for me. It’s too cutthroat, too dog-eat-dog, too rough a life. For me, that is. You, you’re very good at it, Adam.
But I’m a fish out of water, and have been for a long while now.”

Good at it. But was he? Adam asked himself. Good at what, at being cutthroat and rough himself? Some commentary. “I’m going
to hate seeing you leave. Your work is exemplary.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the wooden arm of the chair. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“What are you planning to do?”

He shrugged. “Take some time off, hole up in a cabin and catch up on my reading for a while. I’ve had an offer from a small
law firm working with indigents. It wouldn’t pay much, but I’ve saved my money. I think I might have something to contribute.
After all, what good is it all if you’re not happy?”

The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “Wherever you go, they’ll be lucky to have you,” Adam told him sincerely. “Just let
me know when and I’ll write you a letter of recommendation.”

Steve rose, smiled, and shook Adam’s hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t handle the rat-race any longer. It gets to you, you
know. In order to swim with the sharks, you’ve got to
be
a shark. I can’t be.”

“I understand. Good luck, Steve.” Adam sat down after he walked out, swiveled about, and stared out the window. He was feeling
Steve’s departure on a far more personal level than he’d have ever imagined.

Was it because he agreed with Steve’s assessment?

Adam fervently wished he were one of those people who could lie down in midday, take a fifteen-minute nap, and wake refreshed.
It was only four and already he’d put in ten hours, starting with an early breakfast meeting and moving on to a press conference,
two television interviews, a luncheon with Palmer and their advisers, and a lengthy conversation with an influential reporter
from the
Los Angeles Times
whom he’d known for years. Just now he’d come in from wandering the convention floor, speaking into assorted floating mikes,
and thought he’d take a short rest; but he couldn’t seem to shut off his mind.

He’d arrived three days ago along with Fitz, several aides, and Diane, his wife glowing with the fuss and attention being
shown her. She’d toured New Orleans with a couple of other senators’ wives, lunching at Antoine’s, the press dogging them,
and Diane had loved it all. She was in the bedroom of their suite at the Hyatt now, changing into her third outfit of the
day. She was really getting on his nerves, Adam thought, rubbing at a spot between his eyes.