“I hope you’re liking your new offices,” she said at the top of her annual card. “I hope it’s quieter for you than D.C.”

Those words shook Josh. He’d told his dad and everyone else that his earlier than planned decision to hang his own shingle stemmed from a desire to strike out on his own. But the truth was, working in D.C. proper had been a nightmare.

She’d been the only one who’d guessed the real reason for his move to a much quieter suburb.

And as for the settling down, well, girlfriends appeared in his life easy enough. But they always broke up with him after too much time passed without even a hint of a ring.

They accused him of being withdrawn and cold. Maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad. A few girlfriends admitted they could have lived with that—just not without a ring and a Mrs. title to make up for their misery.

He’d let them go without protest. He was a good soldier and planned to carry out his father’s orders to marry and produce heirs. But he had to admit he never looked as forward to seeing those girlfriends as he did to receiving just one of her letters.

Over the next few years, she congratulated him on his new endeavors and expressed her surprise when Sawyer’s political career-killing soap opera of a story made the local papers. But like many people, she was happy for Sawyer, who’d gone against their father’s wishes and married for love.

The following year, when Josh announced that he’d be running for his father’s old seat instead of Sawyer, she offered measured congratulations: I hope you’ll gain some happiness when you’re elected.

When—not if. She was more confident than he’d been about his political prospects and turned out to be right. The Grant name was enough to get him elected to his father’s old seat, if not his personality.

His old nickname came back with a vengeance. “Representative Ice Block” featured in many an article about his first couple of terms in office—and a few gossip items, too. Especially when he found himself on the cusp of 40, still single before announcing a rumored run for Senate.

“What exactly is the hold up here?” his father demanded over Thanksgiving dinner with Josh, Sawyer and his family, and their former housekeeper turned stepmother, Grace.

“When are you going to pick a woman already and settle down?” the Admiral demanded.

When?

That question created a cavernous ache inside his walls of ice.

His father acted as if he’d been tomcatting around all this time. But in truth, he’d been holding out. Holding out for her….

“Maybe I just want to be happy. Like you and Sawyer.”

He didn’t realize he’d muttered those words out loud until his father demanded, “What did you say?”