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Senator Hunter Ramson shifted from fooling with his father’s V-C knife to flipping the triangular laser-engraved rosewood nameplate Rose had given him as a wedding gift—with “Senator Hunter Ramson” already carved in though he hadn’t even been in politics yet.
“You’ll think of me every time you see it. Rose in rosewood.” He’d thought her charmingly pleasant and perhaps a little simple when he’d first bedded her during the Miss Utah pageant.
“Not President?” he’d asked her when he’d opened the wedding present almost thirty years ago.
“Do you want four to eight years of prestige or decades of legislative power?”
He’d since learned that the former Miss Utah had never been simple. And she was always right.
She’d certainly proved her point. And also predicted accurately; he was having t
