TWENTY-ONE
Avery woke up first. It was very early, and the room was dim, although the night-light still burned. She smiled wistfully when she realized that Mandy's small hand was resting on her cheek. Her muscles were cramped from lying so long in one position; otherwise, she probably would have gone back to sleep. Needing to stretch, she eased Mandy's hand off her face and laid it on the pillow. Taking agonizing care not to awaken the child, she got up.
Tate was asleep in the rocker. His head was lying at such an angle to one side that it was almost resting on his shoulder. It looked like a very uncomfortable position, but his abdomen was rising and falling rhythmically, and she could hear his even breathing in the quiet room.
His robe lay parted, revealing his torso and thighs. His right leg was bent at the knee; the left was stretched out in front of him. His calves and feet were well-shaped. His hands were heavily veined and sprinkled with hair. One was dangling from the arm of the chair, the other lay against his stomach.
Sleep had erased the furrow of concern from between his brows. His lashes formed sooty crescents against his cheeks. Relaxed, his mouth looked sensual, capable of giving a woman enormous pleasure. Avery imagined that he would make love intently, passionately, and well, just as he did everything. Emotion brimmed inside Avery's chest until it ached. She wanted badly to cry.
She loved him.
As much as she wanted to make recompense for her professional failures, she realized now that she had also assumed the role of his wife because she had fallen in love with him before she could even speak his name. She had loved him when she had had to look at him through a veil of bandages and rely only on the sound of his voice to inspire her to fight for her life.
She was playing his wife because she wanted tobehis wife. She wanted to protect him. She wanted to heal the hurts inflicted on him by a selfish, spiteful woman. She wanted to sleep with him.
If he claimed his conjugal rights, she would gladly oblige him. That would be her greatest lie yet—one he wouldn't be able to forgive when her true identity was revealed. He would despise her more than he had Carole because he would think she had tricked him. He would never believe her love was genuine. But it was.
He stirred. When he brought his head upright, he winced. His eyelids fluttered, came open with a start, then focused on her. She was standing within touching distance.
"What time is it?" he asked with sleepy huskiness.
"Idon't know. Early. Does your neck hurt?" She ran her hand through his tousled hair, then curved her hand around his neck.
"A little."
She squeezed the cords of his neck, working the kinks out.
"Hmm."
After a moment, he yanked his robe together, folding one side over the other. He drew in his extended leg and sat up straighter. She wondered if her tender massage had given him an early morning erection he didn't want her to see.
"Mandy's still asleep," he commented rhetorically.
"Want some breakfast?"
"Coffee's fine."
"I'll make breakfast."
Dawn was just breaking. Mona wasn't even up yet and the kitchen was dark. Tate began spooning coffee into the disposable paper filter of a coffeemaker. Avery went to the refrigerator.
"Don't bother," he said.
"Aren't you hungry?"
"I can wait for Mona to get up."
"I'd like to cook you something."
Turning his back, he said nonchalantly, "All right. A couple of eggs,Iguess."
She was familiar enough with the kitchen by now to assemble the makings for breakfast. Everything went fine until she started whisking eggs in a bowl.
"What are you doing?"
"Making scrambled eggs. F. . .for me," she bluffed when he gave her a puzzled look. She had no idea how he liked his eggs. "Here. You finish this and let me get the toast started."
She busied herself with buttering the slices of toast as they popped from the toaster while covertly watching him fry two eggs for himself. He slid them onto a plate andbrought it to the table, along with her serving of scrambled eggs.
"We haven't had breakfast together in a long time." She bit into a slice of toast, scooped a bite of egg into her mouth, and reached for her glass of orange juice before she realized that she was the only one eating. Tate was sitting across from her with his chin propped in his hands, elbows on the table.
"We've never eaten breakfast together, Carole. You hate breakfast."
It was difficult for her to swallow. Her hand clenched the glass of juice "They made me eat breakfast while I was in the hospital. You know, after I got the dental implants and could eat solid food. I had to gain my weight back."
His gaze hadn't wavered. He wasn't buying it.
"I. . .I got used to eating it and now I miss it when I don't." Defensively, she added, "Why are you making such a big deal of it?"
Tate picked up his fork and began to eat. His movements were too controlled to be automatic. He was angry. "Save yourself the trouble."
She was afraid he meant the trouble of lying to him. "What trouble?"
"Cooking my breakfast is just another of your machinations to worm your way back into my good graces."
Her appetite deserted her. The smell of the food now made her nauseated. "Machinations?"
Apparently he, too, had lost his appetite. He shoved his plate away. "Breakfast. Domesticity. Those displays of affection like touching my hair, rubbing my neck."
"You seemed to enjoy them."
"They don't mean a goddamn thing."
"They do!"
"The hell they do!" He sat back, glowering at her, his jaw working with pent-up rage. "The touches and sweet good-night kisses I can stomach if I have to. If you want to pretend that we're a loving, affectionate couple, go ahead. Make a fool of yourself. Just don't expect me to return the phony affection. Even the Senate seat wouldn't be enough inducement to get me into bed with you again, so thatshould tell you just how much I despise you." He paused for breath. "But the thing that really galls me is your sudden concern for Mandy. You put on quite a show for her last night."
"It wasn't a show."
He ignored her denial. "You'd damn sure better plan to follow through with the maternal act until she's completely cured. She couldn't take another setback."
"You sanctimonious. . ."Avery was getting angry in her own right. "I'm as interested in Mandy's recovery as you are."
"Yeah. Sure."
"You don't believe me?"
"No."
"That's not fair."
"You're a fine one to talk about fair." "I'm worried to death about Mandy." "Why?"
"Why?"she cried. "Because she's our child."
"So was the one you aborted! That didn't stop you from killing it!"
The words knifed through her. She actually laid an arm across her middle and bent forward as though her vital organs had been impaled. She held her breath for several seconds while she stared at him speechlessly.
As though loath to look at her, he got up and turned his back. At the counter he refilled his coffee cup. "I would have found out eventually, of course." His voice sounded as cold as ice. When he turned back around to confront her, his eyes looked just as piercingly cold.
"But to be informed by a stranger that my wife was no longer pregnant. . ." Seething, he glanced away. Again, it was as though he couldn't bear looking at her. "Can you imagine how I felt, Carole? Jesus! There you were, close to death, and I wanted to kill you myself." He swung his head back around and, as his eyes bore into hers, he clenched his free hand into a fist.
Out of her cottony memory, Avery conjured up voices
Tate's:The child. . . effects on the fetus?
And someone else's:Child? Your wife wasn't pregnant.
The fractured conversation had meant nothing. Its significance had escaped her. It had blended into the myriad confusing conversations she had overheard before she had fully regained consciousness. She had forgotten it until now.
"Didn't you think I'd notice that you failed to produce a baby? You were so eager to flaunt it in my face that you were pregnant, why didn't you let me know about your abortion, too?"
Avery shook her head miserably. She had no words to say to him. No excuses. No explanations. But now she knew why Tate hated Carole so.
"When did you do it? It must have been just a few days before your scheduled trip to Dallas. Didn't want to be hampered by a baby, did you? It would have cramped your style."
He bore down on her and loudly slapped the surface of the table. "Answer me, damn you. Say something. It's about time we talked about this, don't you think?"
Avery stammered, "I. . .I didn't think it would matter so much." His expression turned so ferocious, she thought he might actually strike her. Rushing to her own defense, she lashed out, "I know your policy on abortion, Mr. Rutledge. How many times have I heard you preach that it's a woman's right to choose? Does that pertain to every woman in the state of Texas except your wife?"
"Yes, dammit !"
"How hypocritical."
He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. "The principle that applies to the public at large doesn't necessarily carry over into my personal life.Thisabortion wasn't anissue.It was my baby."
His eyes narrowed to slits. "Or was it? Was that another lie to keep me from throwing you out, along with the other trash?"
She tried to imagine how Carole might have responded. "It takes two to make a baby, Tate."
As she had hoped, she had struck a chord. He released her arm immediately and backed away from her. "I sorely regret that night. I made that clear as soon as it happened. I'd sworn never to touch your whoring body again.
"But you've always known which buttons to push, Carole. For days you'd been curling up against me like a cat in heat, mewing your apologies and promises to be a loving wife. If I hadn't had too much to drink that night, I would have recognized it for the trap it was."
He gave her a scornful once-over. "Is that what you're doing now, laying another trap? Is that why you've been the model wife since you got out of the hospital?
"Tell me," he said, propping his hands on his hips, "did you slip up that night and get pregnant by accident? Or was getting pregnant and having an abortion part of your plan to torment me? Is that what you're trying to do again—make me want you? Prove that you can get me into your bed again, even if it means sacrificing your own daughter's welfare in order to prove it?"
"No," Avery declared hoarsely. She couldn't endure his hatred, even though it wasn't intended for her.
"You no longer have any power over me, Carole. I don't even hate you anymore. You're not worth the energy it requires to hate you. Take all the lovers you want. See if I give a damn.
"The only way you could possibly hurt me now is through Mandy, and I'll see you in hell first."
That afternoon she went horseback riding. She needed the space and open air in which to think. Feeling silly wearing the formal riding clothes, she asked the stable hand to saddle her a mount.
The mare shied away from her. As the aging cowboy gave her a boost up, he said, "Guess she hasn't forgotten the whipping you gave her last time." The mare was skittish because she didn't recognize her rider's smell, but Avery let the man believe what he wanted.
Carole Rutledge had been a monster—abusive to her husband, her child, everything she had come into contact with, it seemed. The scene over breakfast had left Avery's nerves raw, but at least she knew what she was up against. The extent of Tate's contempt for his wife was understandable now. Carole had planned to abort his child—or one she claimed was his—though whether she had done so before the crash would forever remain a mystery.
Avery pieced together the scenario. Carole had been unfaithful and had made no secret of it. Her faithlessness would be intolerable to Tate, but with his political future at risk, he decided to remain married until after the election.
For an unspecified period of time, he hadn't slept with his wife. He'd even moved out of their bedroom. But Carole had seduced him into making love to her one more time.
Whether the child was Tate's or not, Carole's abortionwasa political issue, and Avery believed she had planned it that way. It made her ill to think about the negative publicity and grave repercussions if anyone ever found out. The public effect on Tate would be as profound as the personal one.
When Avery returned from her ride, Mandy was assisting Mona with baking cookies. The housekeeper was very good with Mandy, so Avery complimented Mandy's cookies and left her in the older woman's care.
The house was quiet. She had seen Fancy roar off in her Mustang earlier. Jack, Eddy, and Tate were always in the city at this time of day, working at either the campaign headquarters or the law office. Dorothy Rae was secluded in her wing of the house, as usual. Mona had told her that Nelson and Zee had gone into Kerrville for the afternoon. Reaching her room, Avery tossed the riding quirt onto the bed and used the bootjack to remove the tall riding boots. She padded into the bathroom and turned on the taps of the shower.
Not for the first time, an eerie feeling came over her. She sensed that someone had been in the rooms during her absence. Goose bumps broke out over her arms as she examined the top of her dressing table.
She couldn't remember if she had left her hairbrush lying there. Had her bottle of hand lotion been moved? She was certain she hadn't left the lid of the jewelry box opened with a strand of pearls spilling out. She noticed things in the bedroom, too, that had been disturbed while she was out. She did something she hadn't done since moving into Carole's room—she locked the door.
She showered and pulled on a thick robe. Still uneasy and distressed, she decided to lie down for a while before dressing. As her head sank into the pillow, it crackled.
A sheet of paper had been slipped between the pillow and the pillowcase.
Avery studied it with misgivings. The paper had been folded twice, but nothing was written on the outside. She dreaded opening it. What had the intruder expected to find? What had he been searching for?
One thing was certain—the note was no accident. It had been cleverly and deliberately placed where she, and only she, would find it.
She unfolded it. There was one line typed in the center of the white, unlined sheet:
Whatever you're doing, it's working on him. Keep it up.
"Nelson?" "Hmm?"
His absent reply drew a frown from Zinnia. She laid her hairbrush aside and swiveled on her dressing table stool. "This is important."
Nelson tipped down the comer of his newspaper. Seeing that she was troubled, he folded the paper and depressed the footrest of his lounge chair, bringing himself to a sitting position. "I'm sorry, darling. What'd you say?"
"Nothing yet."
"Is something wrong?"
They were in their bedroom. The ten o'clock news, which they watched ritualistically, was over. They were preparing for bed.
Zee's dark hair was shining after its recent brushing. The silver streak was accented by the lamplight. Her skin, well tended because of the harsh Texas sun, was smooth. There weren't many worry lines to mar it. There weren't many laugh lines, either.
"Something is going on between Tate and Carole," she said.
"I think they had a tiff today." He left his chair and began removing his clothing. "They were both awfully quiet at supper."
Zee had also noticed the hostility in the air tonight. Where her younger son's moods were concerned, she was particularly sensitive. "Tate wasn't just sullen, he was mad."
"Carole probably did something that didn't sit well with him."
"And when Tate is mad," Zee continued as though he hadn't spoken, "Carole is usually her most ebullient. Whenever he's angry, she antagonizes him further by being frivolous and silly."
Nelson neatly hung his trousers in the closet on the rod where all his other trousers were hung. Messiness was anathema. "She wasn't frivolous tonight. She barely said a word."
Zee gripped the back of her vanity stool. "That's my point, Nelson. She was as edgy and upset as Tate. Their fights never used to be like that."
Dressed only in his boxer shorts now, he neatly folded back the bedspread and climbed into bed. He stacked his hands beneath his head and stared at the ceiling. "I've noticed several things here latelythataren't like Carole at all."
"Thank God," Zee said. "I thought I was losing my mind. I'm relieved to know somebody besides me has noticed." She turned out the lamps and got into bed beside her husband. "She's not as superficial as she used to be, is she?"
"That close call with death sobered her up."
"Maybe."
"You don't think so?"
"If that were all, I might thinkthatwas the reason." "What else?" he asked.
"Mandy, for one. Carole's a different person around her. Have you ever seen Carole as worried about Mandy as she was last night after her nightmare? I remember once when Mandy was running a temperature of a hundred and three. I was frantic and thought she should be taken to the emergency room. Carole was blasé\ She said that all kids ran fevers. But last night, Carole was as shaken as Mandy."
Nelson shifted uncomfortably. Zee knew why. Deductive reasoning annoyed him. Issues were either black or white. He believed only in absolutes, with the exception of God, which, to him, was an absolute as sure as heaven and hell. Other than that, he didn't believe in anything intangible. He was skeptical of psychoanalysis and psychiatry. In his opinion, anyone worth his salt could solve his own problems without whining for help from someone else.
"Carole's growing up, that's all," he said. "The ordeal she was put through matured her. She's looking at things in a whole new light. She finally appreciates what she's got—Tate, Mandy, this family. 'Bout time she got her head on straight."
Zee wished she could believe that. "I only hope it lasts."
Nelson rolled to his side, facing her, and placed his arm in the hollow of her waist. He kissed her hairline where the gray streak started. "What do you hope lasts?"
"Her loving attitude toward Tate and Mandy. On the surface, she seems to care for them."
"That's good, isn't it?"
"If it's sincere. Mandy is so fragile I'm afraid she couldn't handle the rejection if Carole reverted to her short-tempered, impatient self. And Tate." Zee sighed. "I want him to be happy, especially at this turning point in his life, whether he wins the election or not. He deserves to be happy. He deserves to be loved."
"You've always seen to the happiness of your sons, Zee."
"But neither of them has a happy marriage, Nelson," she stated wistfully. "I had hoped they would."
His finger touched her lips, trying to trace a smile that wasn't there. "You haven't changed. You're still so romance-minded.''
He drew her delicate body against his and kissed her. His large hands removed her nightgown and possessively caressed her naked flesh. They made love in the dark.