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  "Oh, well, then that's easy. 'Hey, Governor, can I have a few acres of state land to keep me out of disabled parking bays?' Yep, that should do it."

  Louie smiled at Oscar's role-playing. "A mere paddock for horse droppings to him, my dear boy. Tell him you need it for training purposes."

  Oscar stared at his adversary. "Look, Louie, that's ridiculous. In the first place, as you know, Governor Davenport has just been elected. I've never even met the man." He scooted forward, perching on the edge of the couch. "Secondly, my family has only ever given governors racing tips, you know, in exchange to help bypass some red tape now and then."

  Louie chomped his cigar. "Despite you owing me over six figures, Oscar, I like you. I really do. I'd hate to see you as red tape. I detest red tape and have an uncanny ability to get rid of it by whatever means necessary."

  "I'll get you the money, but I can't get you chunks of a state park. That's insane."

  "I don't want the money, Oscar. Blue Lightning was the answer to my prayers." Louie took a moment to puff his cigar before continuing. "There I was thinking I would have to orchestrate a meeting with the governor myself and come up with a plausible reason for him to allow me access to the park. You cannot imagine my delight when you came to me for a loan, and my utter euphoria when you said you were putting it on a horse. Your stupidity led to Blue Lightning's misfortune."

  "You arranged that?"

  Louie's smile broadened. "I can't tell you how useful it is to have jockeys on the payroll." The smile disappeared. His eyes narrowed. "Don't underestimate me, Oscar."

  He was mad at himself for going to Louie. He knew Louie had connections in the horse-racing world, but he didn't think he'd go crashing horses. And what was with this land thing? Oscar wasn't familiar with how to go about getting ownership of state land. "This might be out of the governor's scope. Who the hell designates state property anyway?"

  "Finesse whomever you have to. I don't care how you do it, just do it." Louie stood up and downed the rest of his Pappy Van Winkle before heading for the door.

  "How am I supposed to get on the governor's good side? I can't give him the inside track if you go wrecking my racing tips—and my reputation."

  Louie raised his arm and kept walking, not looking back. "Not my problem." He opened the door, calling out as he left. "Find a way, Oscar."

  Chapter 3

  Tyler Chambers sat behind his leather-topped desk in the den reading the racing pages. The rich oak-paneled ceiling with mock beams added an aristocratic elegance to the room, as did the polished wooden floor and comfy oversized leather chairs.

  His father-in-law had instilled in him the importance of following the horses using what was in print as well as from watching them on the track. And what Roscoe Novak didn't know about horse racing wasn't worth knowing. Tyler had always followed Roscoe's advice with regard to racing since he married into the family twenty-seven years ago. The financial rewards for following that advice were evident throughout the stately home.

  Oscar walked into the den and slipped into one of the chairs opposite his father's desk.

  Tyler smacked the paper with the back of his hand. "Can you believe that? Blue Lightning crashed. How the hell can a horse crash? This is thoroughbred horse racing, for crying out loud—not NASCAR." He shook his head in bewilderment. "Did you have a bet on him?"

  Oscar shrugged, hoping his father wouldn't notice his discomfort at the question. "I had a little flutter."

  "Yeah, his trainer told me Lightning was in the best shape ever, but the bookies couldn't see it. I put a grand on him."

  "Yeah, I overheard that conversation," Oscar confirmed.

  "How much did you lose?"

  "About the same as you, give or take."

  "How much is 'give or take'?" his father pressed.

  Oscar didn't like lying to his dad if he didn't have to, so he didn't. "It's not important."

  Tyler cocked an eyebrow.

  "Well, not as important as your meeting with the governor. You are going to meet him, right?"

  Tyler leaned back in his high-back chair. "Yep, I'm seeing him Thursday. Hell, I donated fifty thousand dollars to his campaign, so I should meet him, right?"

  "You've never met him before?" Oscar asked.

  "Nope, but your granddad did way back when Davenport was a mayor, but that was a long time ago." Tyler pulled a pad of paper toward him and grabbed a pen from the marble pen holder at the front of the desk. He scribbled a note. "I need to do some research to see what kind of gift I should bring him. I don't want to give him whiskey if he's a recovering alcoholic."

  Oscar nodded in agreement. "You looking to ask him for anything specific?"

  "Naw, not looking for any favors yet, just greasing the wheels. But"—Tyler swept a hand through his brown, slightly graying hair—"Granddad Roscoe reckons the Kentucky Senate is angling to raise the tax on the winner's purse for each race. Says winning owners can afford to pay a bit more. Well, I say the Senators can afford to bite me."

  Oscar rocked forward in his chair. "So you're going to ask the governor to veto the bill?"

  "Not yet. We want more than just the veto. If we're going to get four years or more out of this guy, we need to build mutual respect and trust. I will get the veto, but this is just foreplay."

  Oscar looked his father in the eyes. "Maybe I could go see the governor on behalf of the family?"

  Tyler offered slow, deliberate nods. "Someday, yes, but the first meeting is always crucial. You better leave this one to me. I'll go in and lay the groundwork."

  Oscar stared at his father. Sometimes the best way to challenge Tyler was with silence, as he was uncomfortable with nonverbal confrontation.

  Tyler avoided his gaze, looking at the racing pages spread across the desktop. "Oh, come on, don't look at me like that."

  Oscar remained silent, still staring. He needed that meeting.

  Oscar's mom, a slender woman sporting a black pixie hairstyle, came bounding into the room. "Tyler, look!" She waved an envelope over her head. "We got it. We got tickets to the van Gogh exhibition in St. Louis. Oh my God, I can't believe it. These things are like gold. Luckily Daddy knows the senator, who knows the governor of Missouri, who knows the museum curator, and—oh my God!" Even through her teenage-style excitement, a certain sophistication accompanied her.

  "That's great, darling," Tyler enthused. "I know how much you wanted to go. I'm pleased."

  Darcy Novak-Chambers's smile grew as she stared at the tickets.

  Tyler cleared his throat. "When is it?"

  "Thursday. We can go up Wednesday night and stay in that swish hotel overlooking the Mississippi. We may as well stay for the weekend while we're there. Oh my God! I can't believe it." She turned and skipped out of the room, casting a "Hello, Oscar," over her shoulder as she left.

  "Bye, Mom," Oscar called out.

  Tyler's head slumped.

  "Mom's pretty excited, huh?"

  "Yeah."

  "Thursday, huh?"

  "Yeah."

  "That's going to be a bit tricky, isn't it?"

  "Umm … yeah."

  "You want me to take your place," Oscar offered.

  "I most certainly do."

  Oscar smiled. He couldn't have been more pleased to see his mom get tickets to an art exhibition on that particular date.

  Tyler leaned back, looking at his son. "You don't have to know anything about art, but pretend to be interested when your mom talks about it and throw in a few sincere 'Wows.' "

  "What? I meant I'd take your place in Frankfort to see the governor, not St. Louis to see some—"

  Tyler raised his hand. "I know what you meant, and I wouldn't disappoint your mom by not going. But I don't know … the governor? Maybe Granddad Roscoe should go—"

  "Dad, with all due respect, Granddad's eighty. Maybe it's time the governor met the new blood in the family. I am twenty-six, and you and Granddad taught me well. I know what to do. I can handle it."

 
; "I don't know. This governor's a Democrat. They're a different kind of people. You have to talk about global warming, belief in the welfare system, and crap like that as though you really give a shit."

  "Then why did you donate fifty grand to a Democrat."

  "Because there was little doubt he was going to win."

  Oscar pushed himself forward. "Give me a chance, Dad. Let me prove I can do this. I can suck up as good as anyone."

  Tyler sighed. "How's the polo ground coming?"

  It was a strange topic to bring up, but Oscar kept his expression neutral. If Thomas the clerk had spoken to his dad, he was so screwed. "Umm, yeah, fine. Why? What's that got to do with anything?"

  "Because I gave you two million dollars to get it going. I'm entitled to inquire about my investment."

  "And a sound investment it is. Everything's fine."

  "Okay, good." Tyler seemed satisfied with his son's reassurance. "Something else to remember. If you need to expedite any building permits or the like, now's not the time to do it. We don't ask for favors on the first date. You're there to court him."

  Oscar smiled. "Dad, I inherited your charm."

  Tyler grinned. "Then you're on a winner." He stood up and walked around the desk, standing with his arms outstretched. Oscar got up and walked into his father's embrace. After a solid clench, Tyler backed him away, holding him by the shoulders and looking him in the eyes. "I'll put my faith in you. Do your homework, okay?"

  "Sure. Don't worry, Dad, you can count on me. You go to St. Louis and enjoy yourself, and I'll take care of Governor Davenport."

  Oscar walked across the hardwood floor and out the door.

  Tyler sat back down at his desk, smiling. "That's my boy."

  Chapter 4

  Oscar's eyes grew heavy as the pixels on the screen blended together. He chastised himself for behaving like a stalker, then excused it as research.

  Judd Davenport … newly elected governor of Kentucky … Democrat … fifty-five years old … widower. He cursed. He knew all that from the over-hyped press coverage before the election.

  "Come on, Google," he mumbled, "tell me something I don't know."

  His manicured finger scrolled the pages to something he found a little more interesting.

  Stacey Davenport … former Los Angeles prosecutor … returning to Kentucky as special consultant to the Jefferson County district attorney … twenty-nine years old … will be living in the governor's mansion with her father … "He loves a good cigar," Miss Davenport commented. "I just hope he doesn't stink up the mansion."

  Oscar stared at her photo. "Hot, you forgot to mention hot."

  She wore a short, shaggy bob, with black roots nestled under her otherwise bleached-blonde hair. A hint of a smile showed the whiteness of her teeth. The photograph on the screen held his attention as he studied the newly appointed consultant's stunning good looks. He wondered if there was a fun side hiding under that professional exterior. His mind wandered to the fun side.

  He slapped himself. Now he did feel like a stalker. Stacey Davenport was not his point of interest. It was the governor he needed to impress.

  Leaving Stacey's picture on the screen, Oscar trundled off to bed, mentally preparing to meet "The Man" in the morning. If Stacey Davenport happened to be there, that would be a perk of the mission. Nothing more.

  ***

  Oscar woke the following morning feeling good about the day despite the rain. After coffee, a chocolate croissant, and a hot shower, he slipped on his blue pinstriped suit and made the fifty-mile journey to meet the governor.

  He pulled up to the gate protecting the governor's mansion from the unwanted and uninvited. A stocky security guard stepped away from his booth. Oscar wouldn't have tagged him as the usual Rent-a-Cop, not with the dark suit and black earpiece. He noted the fellow's military crew cut, but it was the beefy hands holding the clipboard that commanded a certain amount of unannounced authority.

  "May I help you?"

  "Yes, I have an eleven o'clock appointment to see Governor Davenport."

  The guard motioned for Oscar to produce some identification.

  He handed over his license and hand-combed his hair as the guard compared his real-life good looks with the crappy photo on the ID.

  After making some notes on the clipboard, the security guy handed back the license and gave instructions where to park.

  With the rain fading into a light trickle, Oscar took his time walking to the building, admiring how his tax dollars were being used in the form of the well-kept gardens surrounding the mansion. He stood at the side entrance with a small sign noting "For Official Use Only." He rang the bell and admired the magnificent stone pillars with ornately sculpted scrolls at the tops while he waited.

  A tall, lean, smartly dressed gentleman opened the door and welcomed him in. "Good morning, Mr. Novak-Chambers. The governor is expecting you."

  Oscar nodded respectfully.

  At the butler's signal, they walked down the corridor. Oscar admired the paintings clinging to the yellow walls in ornate gold frames. There were portraits of Kentucky's founding fathers alongside scenes of thoroughbred horses. As they headed toward an impressive pair of double doors at the end of the hall, he looked back to make sure he hadn't left any travel residue on the spotlessly clean pink patterned carpet behind him.

  Oscar glanced around, on the lookout for the delectable Stacey Davenport. He wanted to know if she was really as gorgeous as the picture showed or if it was an airbrush job.

  The butler stopped and rapped on one of the heavy oak doors. They entered after receiving an invitational grunt.

  "Mr. Novak-Chambers to see you, sir."

  "Thank you, Conrad."

  The butler nodded and left.

  Dark wooden walls combined with the royal red carpet filled the office with regal grace. American and Kentucky flags flanked either side of the governor's desk in the background, adding a sense of patriotism and pride to the room. A black granite nameplate displaying Governor Davenport sat on the front of his intricately carved desk.

  Kentucky's top man stood up, extended his hand, and smiled. "Mr. Novak-Chambers, it's a pleasure to meet you."

  "Likewise, sir."

  The governor had a firm handshake. Oscar's granddad always told him to never trust a man who shakes hands like a girl. The two men were evenly matched at six-foot-two. Davenport's gray hair gave him a distinguished look. His athletic build mirrored the image of the men in advertisements targeted at active, middle-aged guys. Oscar felt charisma radiating from the governor's smile and handshake alone. No wonder he was elected.

  "How's your grandfather? Well, I trust."

  Oscar was surprised the governor led off with a reference to Granddad Roscoe. There must have been a richer past between the two men than he knew about. Oscar nodded. "Yes, he's well, sir, thank you for asking."

  "Not at all. We played golf together a few times years ago, and I saw him last year at a fundraiser. He's something else, and an asset to the state. And please thank him for the generous donation—very generous indeed."

  "I'll give him your regards, Governor."

  "Splendid." He gave a single clap. "Shall we sit?" He extended his open palm toward two mustard-yellow couches facing one another.

  Oscar sat down while the governor strolled over to a side table and held up a decanter of chestnut-colored liquid. "Care for a nip of Kentucky's finest?"

  Oscar fought the temptation. "I better not, Governor. I'm driving."

  Davenport pulled two lowball tumblers toward him anyway. "One won't hurt." He splashed some whiskey into each glass.

  He handed Oscar the drink while offering a sly wink, then sat opposite. "Cheers."

  The men raised their glasses and took a sip. It was the good stuff.

  "I hear you like a good smoke, Governor." Oscar removed two silver cigar tubes from his inside jacket pocket and handed them to the governor. "With my compliments."

  Davenport's face lit up. He rotate
d one of the tubes, examining it. An eyebrow cocked up. "Cuban?"

  "Yes, sir. The best."

  "Obviously the new trade agreement has benefits." Davenport slipped the tubes into his suit pocket. "I shall enjoy them later and hope my daughter doesn't give it to me in the neck for 'stinking up the joint,' as she puts it."

  "Ask her to join you. That's why I brought two. One's for her. Congratulations on her appointment."

  The governor laughed. "I think we're going to get along just fine, Oscar. You don't mind if I call you Oscar, do you?"

  "No, sir. Oscar's fine."

  "Good. I'm used to Kentuckians having double-barreled first names, like Billy Earl, or Cindy Lou. But a last name like Novak-Chambers, well, it's a bit of a mouthful."

  Oscar smiled. "You'll get used to it, Governor." At least he hoped he would.

  Davenport gave a dismissive wave. "Anyway, I'm glad your family called to arrange a meeting. I wanted to meet with your clan. Wasn't I supposed to meet with your dad? I wanted to thank him for his donation."

  "Yes, sir. Unfortunately, he got called away on urgent business."

  "Oh? More important than meeting the governor?"

  "He sends his apologies, but there was an unexpected meeting in St. Louis about global warming and the effects it has on the poorer communities within the United States."

  Davenport nodded. "I understand. Important issues, indeed. If there's anything this office can do to help, just say the word."

  Oscar dipped his head. "Duly noted, sir."

  "Back to business. Former Governor Simpson gave me an in-depth turnover on what's been happening in our state, and he specifically mentioned your family."

  A surge of pride ran through Oscar, knowing they were big enough players that the governors felt it necessary to put their family on the agenda. "Thank you. We've always valued our relationship with the governor's office and do our utmost to support the administration."

  Davenport grinned. "Indeed. I trust that you're interested in continuing a good working relationship with this administration."