THIRTEEN
She saw him in the mirror.
Seated at the small dressing table in her room at the clinic, Avery made eye contact with Tate as he came in. They held their stare as she gradually lowered the powder puff to the mirrored surface of the table, then swiveled on the stool and met him face-to-face.
He tossed his coat and several department store shopping bags onto the bed while his eyes remained on her. Tightly clasping her hands in her lap, Avery laughed nervously. "The suspense is killing me."
"You look beautiful."
She moistened her lips, which were already shiny with carefully applied gloss. "The resident cosmet-ologist came today and gave me a makeup lesson. I've been using cosmetics for years, but I figured I needed a refresher course. Besides, the consultation comes with the room." Again she gave him a nervous little smile.
Actually, she had wanted an excuse to improve Carole's mode of makeup, which, in Avery's opinion, had been applied with too heavy a hand. "I tried a new technique. Do you think it looks all right?"
She offered her face up for his review. In spite of his reluctance to come any closer, he did. Placing his hands on his knees, he bent from the waist and gave her uplifted face a thorough inspection. "Can't even see the scars. Nothing. It's incredible."
"Thank you." She gave him a smile a woman gives her loving husband.
Except Tate wasn't her husband and he wasn't loving. He straightened up and turned his back on her. Avery closed her eyes momentarily, tamping down her discouragement. He didn't have a forgiving nature, she'd learned. Carole had shattered his trust in her. It was going to be difficult to win him back.
"Are you accustomed to my new look yet?"
"It's growing on me."
"There are differences," she remarked in an unsure voice.
"You look younger." He shot her a glance over his shoulder, then added beneath his breath, "Prettier."
Avery left the dressing table and moved toward him. She laid her hand on his arm and drew him around. "Really? Prettier?"
"Yeah."
"Prettier how? In what way?"
Just as she had learned the extent of his inability to forgive, she had also learned the extent of his ability to control his temper. She was waving a red flag at it now. Lightning was flashing in his eyes, but she didn't back down. She felt compelled to know the discernible differences he saw between her and his wife. Research, she assured herself.
He swore impatiently, raking a hand through his hair. "I don't know. You're just different. Maybe it's the makeup, the hair—I don't know. You look good, okay? Can we leave it at that? You look. . ."His eyes lowered to take in more than her face. They swept down her body, moved up again, looked away. "You look good."
He dug into his shirt pocket and produced a handwritten list. "Mom and I got the things you asked for." Nodding toward the shopping bags, he read off the items. " Ysatisspray perfume. They were out of the bath stuff you wanted."
"I'll get it later."
"Panty hose. Is that the color you had in mind? You said light beige."
"It's fine." She rummaged in the bags, locating the items as he named them. She withdrew the boxed bottle of fragrance from the sack. Uncapping it, she misted her wrist with the atomizer. "Hmm. Smell."
She laid her wrist against his cheek, so that he had to turn his head toward it in order to sniff. When he did, his lips brushed her inner arm. Their eyes met instantly.
"Nice," he said and turned his head away before Avery lowered her arm. "A nightgown with sleeves." Again he questioned her. "Since when have you started sleeping in anything, but especially something with sleeves?"
Avery, tired of being put on the defensive, fired back, "Since I lived through a plane crash and got second-degree burns on my arms."
His mouth, open and ready to make a quick comeback, clicked shut. Returning to the last item on the list, he read, "Bra, 34-B."
"I'm sorry about that." Taking the garment from the sack, she removed the tags and refolded it. The bras that had been brought to her from Carole's drawers at home had been way too large.
"About what?"
"Coming down a full size."
"What possible difference could that make to me?" The scorn in his expression made her look away.
"None, I guess."
She emptied the shopping bags, adding the items to the things she had laid out to wear home the following day. The clothes Zee and Tate had brought her from Carole's closet had fit fairly well. They were only a trifle large. Carole's breasts and hips had been fuller, curvier, but Avery had explained that away by the liquid diet she had been on for so long. Even Carole's shoes fit her.
Whenever possible she kept her arms and legs covered, preferring pants to skirts. She was afraid that the shape of her calves and ankles would give her away. So far, no one had made a comparison. To the Rutledges , she was Carole. They were convinced.
Or were they?
Why hadn't Carole's coconspirator spoken to her again?
That worry was as persistent as a gnat that continually buzzed through Avery's head. Dwelling on it made her ill with fear, so she concentrated more on Carole's personality in an effort to avoid making mistakes that would give her away.
As far as she could tell, she'd been lucky. She wasn't aware of having made any major blunders.
Now that departure was imminent, she was nervous. Being under the same roof with the Rutledges , especially with Tate, would increase the opportunities for making errors.
In addition, she would resurface as a congressional candidate's wife and be called upon to cope with the problems associated with that.
"What's going to happen in the morning, Tate?"
"Eddy told me to prepare you. Sit down."
"This sounds serious," she teased once they were facing each other in matching chairs.
"It is."
"Are you afraid I'll commit a faux pas in front of the press?"
"No," he replied, "but I can damn well guarantee that they'll commit some social taboos."
Because he was criticizing her profession, she took umbrage. "Like what?"
"They'll ask you hundreds of personal questions. They'll study your face, looking for scars, that kind of thing. You'll probably have your picture taken more times tomorrow than at any other time during the campaign."
"I'm not camera shy."
He laughed dryly. "I know that. But tomorrow when you leave here, you'll be swarmed. Eddy's going to try to keep it orderly, but these things have a way of getting out of hand."
He fished into his breast pocket again, produced another piece of paper, and passed it to her. "Familiarize yourself with this tonight. It's a brief statement Eddy wrote for you to read. He'll have a microphone set—What's the matter?"
"This," she said, shaking the paper at him. "If I read this, I'll sound like a moron."
He sighed and rubbed his temples. "Eddy was afraid you'd think that."
"Anybody hearing this would think the crash had damaged my brain more than my face. Everyone would assume you had locked me away in this private hospital until I regained my sanity, like something out ofJane Eyre.Keep the mentally disturbed wife—"
"Jane Eyre?You've certainly gotten literary."
She was taken aback for a moment, but retorted quickly, "I saw the movie. Anyway, I don't want people to think I'm mentally dysfunctional and must have everything I say written out for me beforehand."
"Just don't let your mouth overload your ass, okay?"
"I know how to speak the English language, Tate," she snapped. "I can put more than three words together at any given time, and I know how to conduct myself in public." She ripped the prepared statement in half and tossed it to the floor.
"Apparently, you've forgotten that incident in Austin. We can't afford mistakes like that, Carole."
Since she didn't know what mistake Carole had made in Austin, she could neither defend herself nor apologize. One thing she must remember, however, was that Avery Daniels had experience speaking before television cameras. She was media sophisticated. Carole Rutledge obviously had not been.
In a calmer voice, she said, "I know how important every public appearance is from now until November. I'll try to conduct myself properly and watch what I say." She smiled ruefully and bent to pick up the torn paper. "I'll even memorize this vapid little speech. I want to do what's best for you."
"Don't put yourself out trying to please me. If it were up to me, you wouldn't even be making a statement. Eddy feels that you should, to alleviate the public's curiosity. Jack and Dad go along with his opinion. So you've got to please them, not me."
He stood to go. Avery rose quickly. "How's Mandy?"
"The same."
"Did you tell her I was coming home tomorrow?"
"She listened, but it's hard to tell what she was thinking."
Distressed that there had been no measurable improvement in the child's condition, Avery raised her hand to the base of her throat and rubbed it absently.
Tate touched the back of her hand. "That reminds me." He went for his jacket, which was still lying across the foot of her bed, and removed something from the pocket. "Since the hospital screwed up and lost your jewelry after all, Eddy thought I should replace your wedding ring. He said voters would expect you to be wearing one."
She hadn't exactly lied to him. When he had inquired about her jewelry, she had told him that when she had opened the envelope taken from the hospital safe, it had contained someone else's jewelry, not Carole Rutledge's. "I gave it to one of the nurses here to handle."
"Then where is yours?" he had asked at the time.
"God knows. Just one of those mix-ups that can't be explained, I guess. Take it up with the insurance company."
Tate was now removing a simple, wide gold band from the gray velvet lining of the ring box. "it's not as fancy as your other one, but it'll do."
"I like this one," she said as he slid the ring onto her third finger. When he tried to withdraw his hand, she noticed that he was wearing a matching band. She clutched his hand and called his name on a quick intake of breath.
She bowed her head over their clasped hands, holding them between their chests. Bending her head down farther, she softly kissed the ridge of his knuckles.
"Carole," he said, trying to pull his hand free. "Don't."
"Please, Tate. I want to thank you for all you've done. Please let me."
She implored him to accept her gratitude. "There were so many times—even from the very beginning, when I first regained consciousness—that I wanted to die. I probably would have willed myself to if it hadn't been for your unflagging encouragement. You've been. . ." She choked up and made no attempt to stem the tears that ran down her flawless cheeks. "You've been a wonderful source of strength through all this. Thank you."
She spoke from her heart. Each word was the truth. Responding to the prompting of her emotions, she came up on tiptoe and touched his lips with hers.
He yanked his head back. She heard the swift, surprised breath he took. She sensed his hesitation as his eyes roved over her face. Then he lowered his head. His lips made contact with hers briefly, airily, barely glancing them.
She inclined her body closer to his, reached higher for his lips with her own, and murmured, "Tate, kiss me, please."
With a low moan, his mouth pressed down on hers. His arm went around her waist and pulled her against him. He unraveled their clasped fingers and curved his hand around her throat, stroking it with his thumb while his tongue played at getting between her lips.
Once it had, he sent it deep.
He instantly broke off the kiss and raised his head. “What the—"
He peered deeply into her eyes while his chest soughed against hers. Though he wrestled against it, his eyes weredrawn back to her mouth. He closed his eyes and shook his head in denial of something he couldn't explain before covering her mouth with his own.
Avery returned his kiss, releasing all the yearning she had secretly nurtured for months. Their mouths melded together with hunger and heat. The more he got of hers, the more he wanted and the more she wanted to give.
With his hand on her hips, he tilted her forward against his erection. Arching into it, she raised her hands to the back of his neck and drew his head down, loving the blend of textures encountered by her fingertips—his hair, his clothing, his skin.
And then it stopped.
He shoved her away, putting several feet between them. She watched with anguish as he drew the back of his fist across his mouth, wiping off her kiss. She emitted a small, pained noise.
"It won't work, Carole," he said tightly. "I'm unfamiliar with this new game you're playing, but until I learn the rules, I refuse to participate. I feel sorry for what happened to you. Since you're my legal wife, I did what duty demanded of me. But it has no bearing on my feelings. They haven't changed. Got that? Nothing's changed."
He snatched up his sports coat, slung it over his shoulder, and sauntered from the room without looking back.
Eddy stepped out into the courtyard. The May sunshine had brought out the blooming plants. Oleander bushes bloomed in pottery urns bordering the deck around the swimming pool. Moss rose carpeted the flower beds.
It was dark now, however, and the blossoms had closed for the night. The courtyard was illumined by spotlights placed in the ground among the plants. They cast tall, spindly shadows upon the white stucco walls of the house.
"What are you doing out here?" Eddy asked.
The loner, slouched in a patio lounger, answered curtly. "Thinking."
He was thinking about Carole—about how her face had looked reflected in the mirror when he had entered her room. It had been incandescent. Her dark eyes had glowedas though his arrival signified something special to her. He decided it was quite an act. For an insane moment or two, he'd even fallen for it. What an idiot.
If he had just walked out, never touched her, never tasted her, never wished that things were different, he wouldn't be snarling at his friend now, nursing a bottle of scotch and fighting a losing battle with an erection that wouldn't subside. Aggravated with himself, he reached for the bottle of Chivas Regal again and splashed some over the melting ice in the bottom of his tumbler.
Eddy sat down in a lounge chair close to Tate's and eyed him with concern. Tate, catching his friend's candidly critical gaze, said, "If you don't like what you see, look at something else."
"My, my. Cranky, aren't we?"
He was horny and lusting for an unfaithful wife. The unfaithfulness hemightforgive, eventually, but not the other. Never the other.
"Did you see Carole?" Eddy asked, guessing the source of Tate's dark mood.
"Yes."
"Did you give her the statement to read?"
"Yes. Know what she did?"
"Told you to shove it?"
"Essentially. She tore it in half."
"I wrote it for her own good."
"Tell that to her yourself."
"The last time I told her something for her own good, she called me an asshole."
"She fell just short of spelling that out tonight."
"Whether she believes it or not, meeting the press for the first time since the crash is going to be a bitch, even on somebody as tough as Carole. Their curiosity alone will have them whipped into a frenzy."
"I told her that, but she resents getting unasked-for advice and having words put in her mouth."
"Well," Eddy said, rubbing his neck tiredly, "don't worry about it until you have to. She'll probably do fine."
"She seems confident that she will." Tate took a sip of his drink, then rolled the tumbler between his palms as he watched a moth making suicidal dives toward one of the spotlights in the shrubbery. "She's. . ."
Eddy leaned forward. "She's what?"
"Hell, I don't know." Tate sighed. "Different."
"How so?"
For starters, she tasted different, but he didn't tell his friend that. "She's more subdued. Congenial."
"Congenial? Sounds to me like she pitched a temper tantrum tonight."
"Yeah, but this is the first one. The crash and everything she's been through since then have sobered her up, I think. She looks younger, but she acts more mature."
"I've noticed that. Understandable, though, isn't it? Carole's suddenly realized that she's mortal." Eddy stared at the terrazzo tiles between his widespread feet. "How, uh, how are personal things between the two of you?" Tate shot him a hot, fierce glance. "If it's none of my business, just say so."
"It's none of your business."
"I know what happened in Fort Worth last week."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"The woman, Tate."
"There were a lot of women around."
"But only one invited yon to her house after the rally. At least, only one that I know of."
Tate rubbed his forehead. "Jesus, doesn't anything escape your attention?"
"Not where you're concerned. Not until you're elected senator."
"Well, rest easy.Ididn't go."
"I know that."
"So what's the point of bringing it up?"
"Maybe you should have."
Tate barked a short laugh of surprise.
"Did you want to?"
"Maybe."
"You did," Eddy said, answering for him. "You're human. Your wife's been incapacitated for months, and even before then—"
"You're out of line, Eddy."
"Everybody in the family knows that the two of you weren't getting along. I'm only stating the obvious. Let's be frank."
"You be frank. I'm going to bed."
Eddy caught his arm before he could stand up. "For God's sake, don't get mad at me and go off half-cocked. I'm trying to do you a favor here." He waited for several moments, giving Tate time to contain his anger.
"All I'm saying is that you've been doing without for a long time," Eddy said calmly. "The deprivation has got you uptight and edgy, and that's no good for anybody. If all it takes to get you happy again is a roll in the hay, let me know."
"And you'll do what?" Tate asked dangerously. "Pimp?" Eddy looked disappointed in him. "There are ways to arrange it discreetly."
"Tell that to Gary Hart."
"He wasn't smart."
"And you are?"
"Damn right I am."
"Do you know what Dad would think if he heard you making me this offer?"
"He's an idealist," Eddy said dismissively. "Nelson really believes in motherhood and apple pie. Morality is his middle name. I, on the other hand, am a realist. We clean up pretty, but underneath our affectations, man is still an animal.
"If you need to get laid and your wife isn't accommodating, you get laid by somebody else." After his crude summation, Eddy gave an eloquent shrug. "In your situation, Tate, a little marital infidelity would be healthy."
"What makes you so sure I'm in desperate need of getting laid?"
Eddy smiled as he came to his feet. “I've watched you in action, remember? You've got that tension around your mouth that says you haven't gotten off lately. I recognize the black scowl. You might be running for public office, but you're still Tate Rutledge. Your cock doesn't know that it's expected to be a good little boy until you get elected."
"I'm investing my future in this election, Eddy. You know that. I'm about to realize my ambition to go to Washington as a senator. Do you think I'd risk that dream on twenty minutes of marital infidelity?"
"No, I guess not," Eddy said with a rueful sigh. "I was only trying to help you out."
Tate stood and offered a crooked smile. "The next thing you're going to say is, what are friends for?"
Eddy chuckled. "Something that trite? Are you kidding?"
They headed toward the door leading into the main part of the house. Tate companionably rested his arm across Eddy's shoulders. "You're a good friend."
"Thanks."
"But Carole was right about one thing."
"What's that?"
"You are an asshole."
Laughing together, they entered the house.