THIRTY-SEVEN
It was raining in Fort Worth when they arrived.
Nelson drove straight to the downtown hotel, but because the trip from the hill country had taken longer than expected due to the inclement weather and frequent stops, Jack, Eddy, and Tate had already left for the political rally being held that evening.
The travel-weary group checked into their rooms as quickly as possible. Mandy was tired and cranky. She threw a temper tantrum and nothing pacified her—not even the room service meal that was promptly delivered.
"Mandy, eat your dinner," Zee said.
"No," she said petulantly, poking out her lower lip. "You said I could see Daddy. I want to see Daddy."
"He'll be here later," Avery explained for the umpteenth time.
"Come on now, this is your favorite," Zee said cajolingly. "Pizza."
"I don't like it."
Nelson impatiently glanced at his military wristwatch. "It's almost seven. We've got to leave now or get there late."
"I'll stay with her," Dorothy Rae volunteered, her expression hopeful.
"Big help you'd be," Fancy said scornfully. "I say let the little wretch starve."
"Fancy, please," Zee remonstrated. "One difficult child at a time is enough." She pleaded fatigue herself and offered to skip the rally and stay with Mandy.
"Thank you, Zee," Avery said. "That would be a help. I don't think she's fit to meet the public tonight. Nelson, you take Dorothy Rae and Fancy now. I'll come along later."
Nelson began to protest. "Dirk and Ralph said to—"
"I don't care what they said," Avery said, butting in. "Tate wouldn't want me to leave Mandy with Zee while she's behaving this badly. Once she's in bed, I'll take a cab. Tell them I'll get there as soon as I can."
The three of them filed out of Mandy's bedroom, part of a three-room suite assigned to Tate's family. "Now, Mandy," Avery said reasonably, "eat your supper so I can brag to Daddy how good you've been."
"I want my surprise."
"Eat your dinner, dear," Zee pleaded.
"No!"
"Then would you like a nice, warm bath?"
"No! I want my surprise. Daddy said I'd get a surprise."
"Mandy, stop this," Avery said sternly, "and eat your dinner."
Mandy gave the room service tray a push. It went crashing to the floor. Avery shot to her feet. "That settles it." She yanked Mandy out of her chair, spun her around and swatted her bottom hard several times. "I won't put up with that from you, young lady."
At first Mandy was too stunned to react. She looked up at Avery with wide, round eyes. Then her lower lip began to quiver. Enormous tears rolled down her cheeks. She opened her mouth and let out a wail that would awake the dead.
Zee reached for her, but Avery edged her aside and gathered Mandy against her. The child's arms wrapped around her neck. She burrowed her wet face into Avery's shoulder.
Avery rubbed her back soothingly. 'Aren't you ashamed of yourself for having to get a spanking? Daddy thinks you're a good girl."
"Iama good girl."
"Not tonight. You're being very naughty and you know it."
The crying jag lasted for several minutes. When it finally abated, Mandy raised her blotchy face. "Can I have my ice cream now?"
"No, you can't." Avery pushed back strands of Mandy's hair that tears had plastered to her cheeks. "I don't believe you deserve a treat, do you?" Her lower lip continued to tremble, but she shook her head no. "If you behave now, when Daddy gets here tonight, I'll let him wake you up to give you your surprise. Okay?"
"I want some ice cream."
"I'm sorry," Avery said shaking her head no. "Bad behavior doesn't get rewarded. Understand Mommy?"
Mandy nodded regretfully. Avery eased her off her lap. "Now, let's go take a bath and put your pajamas on so you and Grandma can go to bed. The faster you go to sleep, the sooner Daddy will get here."
Twenty minutes later, Avery tucked her in. Mandy was so tired, she was almost asleep by the time her head hit the pillow. Avery was also exhausted. The incident had sapped her stamina. She was in no frame of mind to quarrel with Zee, whose compact body was quaking with disapproval.
"Tate will hear about the spanking," she said.
"Good. I believe he should."
She was on her way into the connecting room when the telephone rang. It was Tate. "Are you coming, or what?" he demanded without preamble.
"Yes, I'm coming. I had a problem with Mandy, but she's in bed now. I'll get a cab and be there—"
"I'm downstairs in the lobby. Be quick."
She did the best she could in five minutes' time, which was all she dared allow herself. The results weren't spectacular, but good enough to make Tate do a double take as she stepped off the elevator.
The two-piece suit was smart and sassy. The sapphire blue silk enhanced her own vibrant coloring. The curl in her hair had been sacrificed to the humidity, so she'd opted for a sophisticated, dramatic effect and capped it off with a pair of bold, gold earrings.
"What the hell's going on?" Tate asked as he ushered her toward the revolving door. "Dad said Mandy was upset."
"Upset, my foot. Mandy was being an absolute terror."
"Why?"
"She's three years old, that's why. She'd been cooped up in a car all day. I understood why she was behaving the way she was, but understanding only stretches so far. I hate to spoil Zee's surprise, but I spanked her."
They had reached the car parked beneath the porte cochere . He paused with his hand on the passenger door handle. "What happened?"
"It got her attention. It also worked."
He studied her resolute expression for a moment, then bobbed his head and brusquely ordered, "Get in."
He quickly tipped the doorman who'd been keeping an eye on the car, got behind the wheel, and drove cautiously out into the street. The windshield wipers clacked vigorously, but fought a losing battle against the heavy rainfall.
Tate headed north on Main Street, rounded the distinctive Tarrant County Courthouse, then drove across the Trinity River Bridge toward north Fort Worth, where cowboys and cutthroats had made history in its celebrated stockyards.
"Why did you come to get me?" she asked as the car streaked through the stormy night. "I could have taken a cab."
"I wasn't doing anything except hanging around backstage anyway. I thought the time would be better spent doing taxi duty."
"What did Dirk and Ralph say about you leaving?"
"Nothing. They didn't know."
"What!"
"By the time they figure out I'm not there, it'll be too late for them to do anything about it. Anyway, I was goddamn tired of them editing my speech."
He was driving imprudently fast, but she didn't call that to his attention. He seemed in no mood to listen to criticism. His disposition seemed black all around. "Why were we summoned to join you?" she asked, hoping to find the root of his querulousness .
"Have you been following the polls?"
"Yes."
"Then you know that a change of strategy is called for. According to my advisers, desperation measures must be taken. We embarked on this trip to pump up enthusiasm, gain support. Instead, I've lost three points since we started."
"Nelson said something about your maverick image."
He swore beneath his breath. "That's how they think I'm coming across."
"They?"
"Who else? Dirk and Ralph. They thought the bulwark of a family standing behind me would convince voters that I'm not a hothead. A family man projects a more stable image. Shit, I don't know. They go on and on till I don't even hear them anymore."
He wheeled into the parking lot of Billy Bob's Texas. Touted as the world's largest honky-tonk, complete with an indoor rodeo arena, it had been leased by Tate's election committee for the night. Several country and western performers had donated their time and talent to the fund-raising rally.
Tate nosed the car up to the front door. A cowboy wearing a yellow slicker and dripping felt Stetson stepped from the alcove and approached the car. Tate lowered the foggy window.
"Can't park here, mister."
"I'm —
"You gotta move your car. You're in a fire lane."
"But I'm—"
"There's a parking lot across the street, but because of the crowd, it might already be full." He shifted his wad of tobacco from one jaw to the other. "Anyhow, you can't leave it here."
"I'm Tate Rutledge."
"Buck Burdine . Pleased to meet ya . But you still can't park here."
Buck obviously had no interest in politics. Tate glanced at Avery. Diplomatically, she was studying her hands where they lay folded in her lap and biting her lip to keep from laughing.
Tate tried again. "I'm running for senator."
"Look, mister, are you gonna move your car, or am I gonna have to kick ass?"
"I guess I'm gonna move my car."
A few minutes later, he parked in an alley several blocks away, between a boot repair shop and a tortilla factory. As soon as he cut the engine, he looked across the interior of the car at Avery. She glanced at him sideways. Simultaneously, they burst out laughing. It lasted for several minutes.
"Aw, Jesus," he said, squeezing the bridge of his nose, "I'm tired. It feels good to laugh. Guess I have Buck Burdine to thank."
Rain was coming down in torrents and sheeting against the windows of the car. The streets were virtually deserted on this rainy weeknight. The businesses that sandwiched them were closed, but their neon signs projected wavering stripes of pink and blue into the car.
"Has it been horrible, Tate?"
"Yeah. Horrible." Mindlessly, he traced the stitching around the padded leather steering wheel. "I'm losing ground every day, not gaining it. My campaign's on the wane here in the final weeks, when it should be picking up momentum by the hour. It looks like Dekker is going to pull it off again." He thumped the steering wheel with his fist.
Avery shut out everything except him. She gave him her undivided attention, knowing that he needed a sounding board that didn't talk back. He hadn't had to tell her that he was tired. Lines of weariness and worry were etched at the sides of his mouth and around his eyes.
"I've never once doubted that it was my destiny to serve this state in the U.S. Senate." He turned his head and looked at her. She nodded in agreement but said nothing, uncertain how she should respond. He wouldn't tolerate banalities and platitudes.
"I even skipped running for state representative and went after what I ultimately wanted. But now, I'm beginning to wonder if I've been listening to people who only told me what I wanted to hear. Have I got delusions of grandeur?"
"Undoubtedly." She smiled when he registered surprise over her candor. "But name one politician who doesn't. It takes someone with enormous self-confidence to assume the responsibility for thousands of people's lives, Tate."
"We're all egomaniacs, then?"
"You have a healthy self-esteem. That's nothing to be ashamed of or apologize for. The ability to lead is a gift, like being musically inclined or having a genius for numbers."
"But no one accuses a mathematical wizard of exploitation."
"Your integrity wouldn't allow you to exploit anyone, Tate. The ideals you espouse aren't just campaign slogans. You believe in them. You're not another Rory Dekker. He's all wind. He's got no substance. In time, the voters are going to realize that."
"You still think I'm going to win?"
"Absolutely."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
It became very close and still within the car while the rain continued to beat against the roof and lash at the windows. He reached across the car and laid his hand flat on her chest, his thumb and little finger stretching from collarbone to collarbone.
Avery's eyes closed. She made a slight swaying motion toward him as though being tugged by an invisible string. When she opened her eyes again, he was much nearer. He had moved to the center of the bench seat and his eyes were busily scanning her face.
His hand slid up her throat and curled around the back of her neck. When his lips touched hers, spontaneous combustion consumed them. They kissed madly while their hands battled to gain ground. His smoothed down her chest, over the tailored suit jacket, then up again to knead her breasts through the quality cloth.
Avery caressed his hair, his cheeks, the back of his neck, and his shoulders, then drew him against her as she fell back into the corner of the seat.
He unbuttoned the two buttons on her left shoulder and wrestled with the row of hooks running down that side of her torso. When he shoved open the jacket, the gold locket now containing his and Mandy's pictures slipped into the valley between her breasts. The neon lights made a nighttime rainbow of her skin. Streams of rainwater cast fluid shadows across her breasts which were swelling out of her bra.
He bent his head and kissed the full curve, then the dark center. Through the lace, his tongue flicked roughly, hungrily, lustfully.
"Tate," she moaned, as sensations swirled from her breast throughout the rest of her body. "Tate, I want you."
Clumsily, he freed himself from his trousers and carried her hand down. Her fingers encircled the rigid length of his penis. As she caressed its velvety tip with the ball of her thumb, he buried his face between her breasts and gasped snatches of erotic phrases and promises.
His hands slipped beneath her narrow skirt. She helped him get her underpants off. Their lips met in a frantic, passion-driven kiss while they sought a workable position within the impossible confines of the front seat.
"Damn!" he cursed, his voice sounding dry and raw.
Suddenly he sat up and pulled her over his lap. Holding her bottom between his hands beneath her skirt, he positioned her above his erection. She impaled herself. They gave glad cries which, within seconds, diminished to pleasurable groans.
Their lips sought and found each other while their tongues were rampant and quick. He squeezed the taut flesh of her derriere and stroked her thighs above her hosiery and between the lacy suspenders of her garter belt. She used her knees for elevation that teasingly threatened to release his cock before sinking down onto it until it was fully imbedded again. She rode him, milked him.
"Damn, you can fuck."
Having rasped that, he nuzzled his head against her breast until he had worked it free of her brassiere cup. He laved the raised nipple with his tongue, then took it into his mouth. He slid one of his hands between her damp thighs and entwined his fingers in the soft hair, then slipped them into the cleft and stroked the small protuberance.
Avery's breathing became choppy and loud. She bent her head over his shoulder. Tensing around the hardness within her and grinding against the magic stroking finger without, she had a very long, very wet climax that coincided with Tate's.
They didn't move for a full five minutes. Each was too weak. Finally, Avery eased herself off his lap and retrieved her underpants from the floorboard. Wordlessly, Tate passed her a handkerchief.
Self-consciously, she accepted it and said, "Thank you."
"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
"No, why?"
"You. . .you feel so small."
Her eyes were the first to fall away after a long, telling stare.
Once she had tidied herself and straightened her helplessly wrinkled clothing, she flipped down the sun visor and looked with dismay at her reflection in the vanity mirror.
Her hairdo had been ravaged. Clumps of moussed hair surrounded her head like a spiked halo. An earring was missing. Carefully outlined lipstick had been smeared over the entire lower third of her face. "I'm a wreck."
Tate made his body as straight as the accom-modations would allow and tucked in his shirttail. His necktie was askew and his coat was hanging off one shoulder. He fumbled with his pants zipper and cursed it twice before closing it successfully.
"Do the best you can," he said, passing her the earring he'd just sat down on.
"I'll try." With the cosmetics in her purse, she repaired the damages to her makeup and did what she could with her coiffure. "I guess we can blame my hair on the weather."
"What'll we blame the whisker burns on?" Tate touched the corner of her mouth. "Do they sting?"
She gave a small, unrepentant shrug and smiled shyly. He smiled back, then got out and came around for her.
By the time they reached the backstage area where Eddy was pacing and Ralph was jingling change in both pockets, they truly did look the worse for wear—windblown and rain-spattered, but inordinately happy.
"Where the hell have you been?" Eddy was almost too livid to form the words.
Tate answered with admirable composure. "I went to pick up Carole."
"That's what Zee told us when we called the hotel," Ralph said. He was no longer rattling change. "What possessed you to pull such a damn fool stunt? She said you'd left half an hour ago. What took so long?"
"No place to park," Tate said tersely, disliking this cross-examination. "Where are Jack and the others?"
"Our front trying to keep the hounds at bay. Hear that?" Eddy pointed toward the auditorium, where the crowd could be heard stamping in beat to a patriotic march and chanting, "We want Tate! We want Tate!"
"They'll be all the more glad to see me," Tate said calmly.
"Here's your speech." Eddy tried to thrust several sheets of paper at him, but he refused to take them.
He tapped the side of his head instead and said, "Here's my speech."
"Don't pull that disappearing act again," Ralph warned him bossily. "It's stupid not to let at least one of us know where you are at all times."
Dirk hadn't said a word. His dark face was even darker with fury. It wasn't aimed at Tate, but at Avery. He hadn't taken his beady eyes off her since their breathless arrival. She had withstood his baleful glare with aplomb. When he finally spoke, his voice vibrated with rage. "From now on, Mrs. Rutledge, when you want to be screwed, do it on your time, not ours."
Tate, making a savage, snarling sound, launched himself against the other man. He would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn't flattened him against the nearest wall. His forearm formed a bar as hard as steel against Dirk's throat and his knee plowed high into his crotch. Dirk grunted with surprise and pain.
"Tate, have you gone completely crazy?" Eddy shouted.
He tried to remove Tate's arm from Dirk's throat, but it wouldn't be budged. Tate's nose wasn't even an inch from Dirk's. His face was smooth and blank with the single-mindedness of a man bent on murder. Dirk's face, by contrast, was growing progressively bluer.
"Tate, please," Avery said desperately, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Never mind him. What he says doesn't matter to me."
"For God's sake, Tate." Frantically, Eddy tried to wedge himself between the two men. "Let him go. Now's not the time. Jesus, think!"
"If you ever," Tate said in a slow, throbbing voice, "ever insult my wife like that again, you'll die choking on it. You got that, you son of a bitch?" He dug into Dirk's testicles with his knee. The man, whose small eyes were bugging with fear, bobbed his head as much as Tate's arm beneath his chin would permit.
Gradually, Tate's arm relaxed. Dirk bent from the waist, clutching his balls, coughing and sputtering. Ralph rushed to assist his cohort. Tate smoothed back his hair, turned to Eddy, and said coolly, "Let's go." He reached for Avery.
She took his extended hand and followed him on stage.