That night, with no warning at all, Garrett's longtime boss and mentor had arrived at an important fundraiser, held in a glittering hotel ballroom, but not with Nan on his arm-elegant, articulate, wholesome Nan, with her own pedigree as a former Texas governor's daughter. The dogs-several generations of golden retrievers, all rescued, of course-were pictured as well. Altogether, there were nine Cox offspring. A corner of each of his hand-carved antique desks in both the Austin and Washington offices supported a small forest of framed photos-himself and Nan on their wedding day, himself and Nan and the first crop of kids, himself and Nan and more kids, some of whom were adopted and had special needs. Senator Morgan Cox, they'd said, in so many words and in their different ways, wasn't what he seemed.Īgainst his will, Garrett's mind looped back a few hours, and even as he sped along that straight, dark ribbon of road, another part of him relived the shock in excruciating detail.Ĭox had always presented himself as a family man, in public and private. He should have seen it coming-or at least listened to people who did see it coming, specifically his brothers, Tate and Austin. The party was definitely over-for him, anyhow.
He'd left the tuxedo jacket, the cummerbund, the tie, the fancy cuff links, back in Austin-right along with one or two of his most cherished illusions. Everything in him-from the nuclei of his cells outward-vibrated to the beat. The moon and stars cast silvery shadows through the open sunroof and shimmered on the rolled-up sleeves of his white dress shirt, while a country oldie, with lots of twang, pounded from the sound system. But for now, anyway, the Porsche would have to do.īecause of the hour-it was a little after 3:00 a.m.- Garrett had that particular stretch of Texas highway all to himself.
Garrett McKettrick wanted a horse under him-a fleet cow pony like the ones bred to work the herds on the Silver Spur Ranch.
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