“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, honey.” He smiled when she settled in the matching chair across from him.

“Playing hooky?” she asked.

“Hiding,” he said, removing his reading glasses and setting them and the file on an antique table next to him. “How’s Cam?”

“Healing. Stubborn. On her way to the countdown.”

Andrew Powell, in his early fifties and looking a decade younger, his hair still golden brown, his blue eyes sharp and clear, laughed. “Back to her old self, then.”

“Almost. I tried to get her to stay home.”

Andrew nodded. “I suppose you had about as much success as she did in getting you to stay behind.”

Blair smiled wryly. “That would be a good bet.”

“The trip should be relatively straightforward and not too strenuous.”

Blair laughed. “Dad. Have you forgotten what the campaign trail is like? If we even manage to stay on schedule it’ll be a miracle, and you know Adam is going to end up adding extra venues all along the way.”

“Still, Cam shouldn’t have to do too much.”

“You’re probably right.” Blair set her concerns aside. Her father did not need to worry about Cam. That was her job. “Some of the opposition has been making noise ahead of your arrival that you’re making the trip due to slipping approval ratings. Do you want to address that out in Chicago?”

“Familiar song.” Andrew snorted. “I think we should stick to our original plan to press our platform and not engage. Responding only gives credibility to their arguments. They’re going to be fighting like dogs over a bone for the next few months until a clear contender emerges. Until then, addressing their issues and arguments is fruitless.”

“I’m surprised Russo hasn’t made a statement yet,” Blair said. “He’s clearly the man the press is pointing toward as the next candidate.”

“He’s still pretty far right, but he’s got momentum, no doubt,” Andrew said. “We’ve got people watching. I hope he does come out on top. He’ll have a hard time winning over the center.”

“You know we’re going to take some heat over the wedding in a few places out there,” Blair said.

Andrew shrugged. “Gay rights is always an issue. We’ve dealt with that before.”

“But not like this. Come on, Dad. Don’t pretend I haven’t put you on the spot.”

Andrew leaned forward, his gaze deep and intense, a look of such certainty that even television cameras couldn’t mute it. That look had won over a great many voters. “Your personal life does not create a problem for me. The country already knows my views. If anything, what you and Cam have done only makes us stronger. People respect those who live by what they preach.”

Blair’s chest tightened. She’d spent so many years resenting her father’s ambition, his driving need to lead. She refused for so long to acknowledge what she knew in her heart—he sacrificed too. The burden of power, of responsibility, wore on him. “You never let me down.”

“I wish that were true.” He shook his head. “You’re more likely to get heat than me.”

Blair grinned. “I can’t wait.”

He laughed. “You’re going to give Adam fits, you know.”

“Oh, I’ll be good.” Serious then, she said, “I’d never do anything—at least not intentionally—that would reflect badly on you.”

“I know. And I’m sorry you’ve had to think about that first for all these years.”

She waved her hand. “Dad. How many people in the history of the world have been able to say their father was the president of the United States? It’s okay.”

“Thank you for that.”

“So we’re all good. We’ll take Middle America by storm.” Blair looked at her watch. They had an hour. “Any chance we could sneak away for a burger somewhere?”

He grinned. “We can try.”

*

“This has been great,” Viv said, standing in the hall of the training facility, unspeakably grateful to be inside, out of the wind. “Atlas is incredible. I love how he zeroed in on everything out there.”

Dusty stood with her jacket slung over her shoulder and Atlas’s lead lightly looped in her hand. “He was showing off for you today. He knew you were watching.”

Viv extended a hand. “Do you think he’d mind me petting him now?”

“I think he’d like it a lot.” Dusty gave a command to let Atlas know he was off-duty, and he gave a vigorous shake, as if relaxing after a strenuous workout. He sat again as Viv knelt slowly and held out her hand.

Atlas nosed it and she petted his head. “You are such a gorgeous guy.” She looked up at Dusty. “I can’t wait to see him on the job again.”

“You probably won’t see much of us,” Dusty said. “We’ll be doing most of our work when the train is stopped, and you’ll be off covering the president.”

Viv frowned and straightened. “Would you let me know when? I can stay behind, at least a couple of times. You’re the story. My story, at any rate.”

Dusty felt a flush of pleasure, a rare sensation and a little disorienting. Putting Atlas through his paces for Vivian had been easy. She loved to work him and loved to show him off for an audience. But there’d been more to it today. She’d been aware of showing off herself a little bit. She liked the way Vivian watched them, both of them, as if they were both special, both interesting. Even the biting cold hadn’t seemed to put her off. The idea that Viv wanted to see her again— Dusty caught herself. That wasn’t really what Vivian had said. She wanted to see Atlas again. It was all about Atlas. “Sure. If you want.”

“I do. Maybe we can have breakfast or lunch on the train. Compare notes and you can let me know a good time.”

“As long as it’s cleared,” Dusty said. “And the shift leader approves.”

“Goes without saying. I’ll talk to the public affairs office tonight, to let them know I’ll be doing some follow-up.”

“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow or sometime,” Dusty said, feeling awkward and wishing she had something to say that would keep Vivian there a few minutes longer.

“Absolutely.” Viv held out her hand. “Thanks again. It’s been great.”

Dusty took her hand, squeezed gently. “Right.”

“Well. I should go.” Viv stepped away.

Dusty nodded.

Viv took a few steps, halted. “You’re busy now, right?”

“Uh.” Dusty swallowed the sand in her throat. “I’ve got countdown—the advance briefing. For tomorrow.”

“Of course. So, what about tonight?”

Dusty’s breath came a little faster. “I’m sorry?”

“Tonight? Are you working?”

“Not after the briefing.”

“So how about dinner?”

“Dinner?” Dusty was aware she was parroting everything and sounding like an idiot.

“You. Me.” Viv smiled and pointed a finger between them. “Dinner. You can tell me how you ended up in the canine division. Research.”

“Sure. For the article, you mean.”

“That too,” Viv said softly.

“Okay,” Dusty said, aware of venturing into unknown territory. “Okay. I’ll call you, when I’m free.”

“Give me your phone,” Viv said.

Wordlessly, Dusty handed it over. Unexpected pleasure swept through her when she saw Viv push numbers into it.

“There,” Viv said. “You can call me. And it’s Viv, by the way.”

Dusty stared down at the phone, Vivian’s name and number in her contacts. That was the only number on her phone that wasn’t work related. She looked up to see Viv studying her. She swallowed, nodded. “Okay. Viv. I will.”

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t forget,” Dusty said quickly.

“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” Viv gave a little wave and walked away.

Dusty stared after her and said softly, “Me too.”

Atlas nudged her leg, and she looked down into his gleaming eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know you’re still the star. It’s just business.”

But the buzz in her middle stayed with her, a strange new feeling she liked.

Chapter Five

Viv parked in the lot reserved for the press and walked the short distance to the entrance to the West Wing, stopping at the guard post to show her press credentials. As always, the pressroom was busy, with some people talking on their cell phones, others working on tablets or laptops, others huddled in small groups drinking coffee and speculating on the newest developments in the political scene. She was relatively new to the White House beat and focused more on op-ed and feature stories rather than straight White House political reporting. Although her editors had been skeptical at first that humanizing the political process was necessary or even possible, she’d pointed to the popularity of TV shows focused on the inside world of Capitol Hill, arguing that the public had a fascination with what happened inside the White House, an institution—much more than just a building—shrouded in secrecy and mystique. They’d assigned her to the beat with a watch-and-see attitude. Now a lot of people were watching.

Her pieces were getting some of the highest hit rates online of any of their Washington coverage, and the power people at the paper were reaching out to contacts to get her deeper and deeper inside. She liked watching the inner workings as much as anyone, and she felt as if she had the best of both worlds. She was there when world-changing events happened, and because of her emphasis on some of the individuals involved—people like Dusty Nash and her dog—her stories brought a special touch to the sometimes cold facts that resonated with readers. Some of the other reporters ignored her completely, relegating her articles to the category of fluff, and she couldn’t pretend it didn’t bother her. She had an ego and ambition, after all, but she knew what she was doing was valuable and good reporting. Her editors knew it too, so she really couldn’t complain about a few arrogant people. Much.

She draped her coat over a chair at one of the communal tables and went for coffee. She’d write up her notes and start outlining the article while waiting to see what else was happening. Something was always happening at the White House. To miss a breaking story was a reporter’s worst nightmare.