Read Online The Governor's Lady by Robert Inman - Free Book Online Page B

seat and gave him a good thirty seconds of silence.
    “Cooper, are you there?” his voice came tinnily.
    She picked up the phone. “Is Roger checking in with you by the hour? Is it part of his babysitting duties?”
    “Nobody’s babysitting,” Pickett snapped.
    “Well, Pickett, my sources tell me Roger describes it as babysitting.”
    “I’ll speak to Roger about that.”
    “No, you won’t,” she said. “I’ll handle Roger. You spend your time winning Keene.”
    “Cooper …” He was almost pleading now.
    “All right, Pickett, here’s what happened. Wheeler Kincaid asked to speak to me alone. I said okay.”
    “The man’s dangerous. If he’s up to something—”
    “Hush and let me finish. What he came to tell me was that Felicia Withers is on the warpath, and I’m the wagon train.”
    “Shit!”
    “She told the people at the Dispatch she intends to expose me as a farce, and you as a snake-oil salesman.”
    “Shit, shit, shit! ”
    “Come on, Pickett, you aren’t surprised, are you? It’s Felicia.”
    “I just thought she might give us a little time.”
    “Felicia doesn’t think there’s room in town for both of us.”
    “I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ll call you later.” He rang off abruptly.
    She tried to imagine him climbing out of his car, forcing that great smile, thrusting out his hand. Hi, I’m Pickett Lanier. Running for president . Was it snowing in Keene or just a miserable, bone-jarring January cold? She wished for a brief moment she could be there with him, tellhim, Hey, it’s okay, Pickett. Go win New Hampshire. I can handle this back here, me and Roger. You do that, I do this .
    But she wasn’t there with him. Pickett would have to fend for himself.

    When Cooper got to the hospital, Mickey was sitting up in bed, bright-eyed, color good, a bit cocksure. Cooper stared, taken aback.
    Before she could speak, Nolan Cutter was there, tousled and white-jacketed, stethoscope dangling, flipping intently through pages on a clipboard. “Hi,” he said with a smile.
    “Hi yourself.”
    Mickey glared at Cutter, eyes narrowing. “Who the hell are you?”
    “Nolan Cutter, Miz Spainhour. Old friend of the family.”
    “Where’d you come from?”
    “Down the hall.”
    “Are you a doctor?”
    “Last time I checked.”
    “Are you my doctor?”
    “Yes. I was here yesterday when they brought you in. I checked you over and got you settled. Been back a couple of times since. Remember?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Well, think about it. Later, I’ll give you a pop quiz.” Then to Cooper: “Give us a few minutes. A consultation room is down the hall on the right, sign on the door.”
    Fifteen minutes, and Cutter was there with two Styrofoam cups of coffee. He handed Cooper one, gave her a hug, and plopped into a chair. He looked weary—deep lines around his eyes, stubble of whiskers on pallid skin. He sipped his coffee while she waited.
    “False alarm,” he said.
    “The hospital called and said she was dying.”
    “Well, she is, but not just yet. Being who she is, the hospital …” He shrugged. “When I got here, she seemed okay. She might have had a panic attack.”
    ”Knowing my mother, probably not.”
    Nolan Cutter had been her first boyfriend, after a fashion, beginning that February day when she was thirteen, the blizzard. Nothing much was moving except the National Guard. Cleve had dispatched one of the Guard’s big trucks to the homes of a dozen of her classmates, boys and girls, and brought them to the Executive Mansion, where they built a snowman in the front yard. Nolan was one of the kids—easy grin, nice, open face, shock of blond hair that poked out from under his toboggan. Cleve watched from the window of the upstairs bedroom where he had set up a temporary command post. Later, he came down and put a hat on the snowman’s head while a TV cameraman and a photographer from the Dispatch took pictures.
    When they finished the snowman, they trooped around to the