by Sandra Brown
“I don’t. Not right away. The pompous son of a bitch wants to provoke me and make me look like a fire-breathing dragon. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Oh, and that ‘pompous son of a bitch’ is off the record.”
The young man laughed and scurried toward a word processor to compose his press release.
“What does the current poll show?” Tate asked the room at large.
“We aren’t paying attention to the polls,” Eddy said smoothly, moving toward them. Somewhere along the way, he had picked up Fancy. She was eyeing Carole with her usual recalcitrance.
“The hell you’re not,” Tate said, countering Eddy’s glib response. “How many points am I behind?”
“Fourteen.”
“Up one from last week. I’ve been saying all along there’s nothing to sweat.” Everyone laughed at his optimistic analysis.
“Hi, Uncle Tate. Hi, Aunt Carole.”
“Hello, Fancy.”
The girl’s face broke into an angelic smile, but there was malice behind it that Avery found unsettling. The one time Fancy had come to see her in the hospital, she had snickered at her scars, which had still been visible. The girl’s insensitivity had angered Nelson so much that he’d sent her from the room and banished her from returning. She hadn’t seemed to mind.
Just to look at her, one could tell that she was a calculating, selfish little bitch. If Fancy were ten years younger, Avery would think a hard spanking would be in order. Her regard for Carole, however, seemed to go beyond teenage sullenness. She seemed to hold a deep and abiding grudge against her.
“Is that your new wedding ring?” Fancy asked now, nodding down at Avery’s left hand.
“Yes. Tate gave it to me last night.”
She lifted Avery’s hand by the fingertips and scornfully assessed the ring. “He wouldn’t spring for more diamonds, huh?”
“I have a job for you,” Eddy said tersely. “Back here.” Taking Fancy’s elbow, he spun her around and gave her a push in the opposite direction.
“Such a sweet child,” Avery said from the corner of her mouth.
“She could stand a good paddling.”
“I agree.”
“Hello, Mrs. Rutledge.” A middle-aged woman approached them and shook Avery’s hand.
“Hello. It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Baker,” she said after surreptitiously consulting the name tag pinned to the woman’s breast pocket.
Mrs. Baker’s smile faltered. She nervously glanced at Tate. “Eddy said you should read over these press releases, Tate. They’re scheduled to be sent out tomorrow.”
“Thanks. I’ll do it tonight and send them back with Eddy tomorrow.”
“That’ll be fine. There’s no rush.”
“I made a mistake, didn’t I?” Avery asked him as the woman moved away.
“We’d better go.”
He called out a good-bye that encompassed everybody. Eddy waved to him from across the room but continued speaking into the telephone receiver he had cradled between his ear and shoulder. From her perch on the corner of his desk, Fancy gave them a negligent wave.
Tate escorted Avery outside and toward a parked silver sedan. “No limo this time?”
“We’re just plain folks now.”
Avery drank up the sights and sounds of the city as they slogged their way through noon traffic. It had been so long since her world had consisted of more than only a few sterile walls. The hectic pace at which everything moved, the racket, color, and light, were intimidating after her months of isolation. They were also thrilling. Everything was fondly familiar yet excitingly new, as spring must be to an animal emerging from hibernation.
When they passed the airport and she saw the jets taking off, chill bumps broke out over her arms and her insides tensed to the point of pain.
“Are you okay?”
Quickly, she averted her eyes from the airfield and caught Tate watching her closely. “Sure. I’m fine.”
“Will you ever be able to fly again?”
“I don’t know. I suppose. The first time is sure to be the toughest.”
“I don’t know if we’ll ever get Mandy on a plane again.”
“She might overcome her fear easier than I will. Children are often more resilient than adults.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m so anxious to see her. It’s been weeks.”
“She’s growing.”
“Is she?”
A smile broke across his face. “The other day I pulled her into my lap and noticed that the top of her head almost reaches my chin now.”
They shared a smile for several seconds. Then his eyes dimmed, his smile relaxed, and he returned his attention to the traffic. Feeling shut out, Avery asked, “What about Mrs. Baker? What did I do wrong?”
“She only started working for us two weeks ago. You’ve never met her.”
Avery’s heart fluttered. This was bound to happen. She would make these little mistakes that she had to rapidly think up excuses for.
She lowered her head and rubbed her temples with her middle finger and thumb. “I’m sorry, Tate. I must have looked and sounded very phony.”
“You did.”
“Have patience with me. The truth is, I have lapses of memory. Sometimes the sequence of events confuses me. I can’t remember people or places clearly.”
“I noticed that weeks ago. Things you said didn’t make any sense.”
“Why didn’t you say something when you first noticed?”
“I didn’t want to worry you, so I asked the neurologist about it. He said your concussion probably erased part of your memory.”
“Forever?”
He shrugged. “He couldn’t say. Things might gradually come back to you, or they might be irretrievable.”
Secretly, Avery was glad to hear the neurologist’s prognosis. If she committed a faux pas, she could use a lapse of memory as her excuse.
Reaching across the car, she covered Tate’s hand with her own. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand when I explain.”
He slid his hand from beneath hers and placed both on the steering wheel to take an exit ramp off the divided highway. Avery paid close attention to the route they were taking. She would have to know how to find her way home, wouldn’t she?
She had been born in Denton, a college town in north central Texas, and spent most of her childhood in Dallas, the base from which Cliff Daniels had worked as a freelance photojournalist.
Like most native Texans, regional pride had been bred into her. Though she’d spent hundreds of dollars on speech teachers in an effort to eradicate her accent, at heart she was all Texan. The hill country had always been one of her favorite areas of the state. The gently rolling hills and underground, spring-fed streams were beautiful any season of the year.
The bluebonnets were in full bloom now, covering the ground like a sapphire rash. More brilliantly colored wildflowers were splashed across the natural canvas, and the borders of color blurred to resemble a Monet painting. Giant boulders jutted out of the earth like crooked molars, saving the landscape from being merely pastoral.
Passion teemed in this countryside where Spanish dons had established empires, Comanche warriors had chased mustang herds, and colonists had shed blood to win autonomy. The land seemed to pulse with the ghosts of those indomitable peoples who had domesticated but never tamed it. Their fiercely independent spirits lurked there, like the wildcats that lived in the natural caves of the area, unseen but real.
Hawks on the lookout for prey spiraled on motionless wings. Rust-colored Herefords grazed on the sparse grass growing between cedar bushes. Like benevolent overseers, occasional live oaks spread their massive branches over the rocky ground, providing shade for cattle, deer, elk, and smaller game. Cypress trees grew along the rushing riverbeds; the swollen banks of the Guadalupe were densely lined with their ropy trunks, knobby knees, and feathery branches.
It was a land rich in cont
rasts and folklore. Avery loved it.
So, apparently, did Tate. While driving, he gazed at the scenery with the appreciation of one seeing it for the first time. He turned into a road bracketed by two native stone pillars. Suspended between them was a sign made of wrought iron that spelled out “Rocking R Ranch.”
From the articles about the Rutledges that she had secretly read during her convalescence, Avery had learned that the Rocking R covered more than five thousand acres and was home to an impressive herd of prime beef cattle. Two tributaries from the Guadalupe River and one from the Blanco supplied it with coveted water.
Nelson had inherited the land from his father. Since his retirement from the air force, he had devoted his time to building the ranch into a profitable enterprise, traveling to other parts of the country to study breeds of cattle and ways to improve the Rocking R’s stock.
An article in Texas Monthly had carried an accompanying picture of the house, but Avery couldn’t tell much about it from the photograph.
Now, as they topped a rise, she could see it in the distance. It was built of white adobe like a Spanish hacienda, with three wings that formed a horseshoe around a central courtyard. From the center, one had a spectacular view of the valley and the river beyond. The expansive house had a red tile roof that was currently reflecting the noon sun.
The driveway arced, forming a half circle in front of the main entrance. A majestic live oak shaded the entire front of the house, with curly gray moss dripping from its branches. Geraniums, scarlet and profuse, were blooming in terracotta pots on either side of the front door, which Tate guided her toward once she had alighted from the car.
It was quintessential Texana, breathtakingly beautiful, and, Avery suddenly realized, home.
Fifteen
The entire house was furnished with a taste and style one would expect from Zee. The decor was traditional, very cozy, and comfortable. All the rooms were spacious, with high, beamed ceilings and wide windows. Zee had made a good home for her family.
Lunch was waiting for them in the courtyard. It was served at a round redwood picnic table with a bright yellow umbrella shading it. After Avery had been embraced by Nelson and Zee, she approached Mandy and knelt down.
“Hi, Mandy. It’s so good to see you.”
Mandy stared at the ground. “I’ve been good.”
“Of course you have. Daddy’s been telling me. And you look so pretty.” She smoothed her hand over Mandy’s glossy page boy. “Your hair’s growing out and you’ve got your cast off.”
“Can I have my lunch now? Grandma said I could when you got here.”
Her indifference broke Avery’s heart. She should have been bursting with exciting things to tell her mother after such a lengthy separation.
As they took their places around the table, a maid carried a tray of food out from the kitchen and welcomed her home.
“Thank you. It’s good to be back.” A vapid, but safe response, Avery thought.
“Get Carole some iced tea, Mona,” Nelson said, providing Avery with the housekeeper’s name. “And remember to add real sugar.”
The family unwittingly supplied her with clues like that. From them she gleaned Carole’s habits, likes, and dislikes. She remained constantly alert for the clues she might be unwittingly giving away, as well, although only Tate’s parents and Mandy were present.
Just when she was congratulating herself on her excellent performance, a large, shaggy dog loped into the courtyard. He came to within a few feet of Avery before realizing she was a stranger. All four of his legs stiffened then he crouched down and began to growl deep in his throat.
A dog—the family pet! Why hadn’t she thought of that? Rather than waiting for the others to react, she seized the initiative.
“What’s wrong with him? Am I that changed? Doesn’t he recognize me?”
Tate threw one leg over to straddle the bench of the picnic table and patted his thigh. “Come here, Shep, and stop that growling.”
Keeping a wary eye on Avery, the dog crept forward and laid his chin on Tate’s thigh. Tate scratched him behind the ears. Tentatively, Avery extended her hand and petted the dog’s muzzle. “Hey, Shep. It’s me.”
He sniffed her hand suspiciously. Finally satisfied that she posed no danger, he gave her palm a warm, wet stroke with his tongue. “That’s better.” Laughing, she looked up at Tate, who was regarding her strangely.
“Since when have you wanted to become friends with my dog?”
Avery glanced around helplessly. Nelson and Zee also seemed baffled by her behavior. “Since… since I came so close to dying. I feel a bond with all living creatures, I guess.”
The awkward moment passed and lunch continued without further mishap. Once it was over, however, Avery was ready to retire to their room and use the bathroom—only she didn’t know where, within the sprawling house, their room was located.
“Tate,” she asked, “have my bags been brought in yet?”
“I don’t think so. Why, do you need them?”
“Yes, please.”
Leaving Mandy in her grandparents’ care, Avery followed him from the courtyard and back to the car still parked out front. She carried the smaller bag; he took the larger.
“I could have gotten both,” he told her over his shoulder as he reentered the house.
“It’s all right.” She lagged behind so she could follow him. Wide double doors opened into a long corridor. One wall of the hallway was made of windows overlooking the courtyard. Several rooms gave off from the other side. Tate entered one of them and set her suitcase down in front of a louvered closet door.
“Mona will help you unpack.”
Avery nodded an acknowledgment, but she was distracted by the bedroom. It was spacious and light, with a saffron-colored carpet and blond wood furniture. The bedspread and drapes were made of a floral print chintz. It was a little too flowery for Avery’s taste, but obviously expensive and well made.
She took in every detail at a glance, from the digital alarm clock on the nightstand to the silver framed photo of Mandy on the dresser.
Tate said, “I’m going to the office for a while. You probably ought to take it easy this afternoon, get back into the flow slowly. If you—”
Avery’s sharp gasp stopped him. He followed the direction of her gaze to the life-size portrait of Carole mounted on the opposite wall. “What’s the matter?”
A hand at her throat, Avery swallowed and said, “Nothing. It’s… it’s just that I don’t look much like that anymore.” It was disconcerting to look into the eyes of the one person who knew unequivocally that she was an impostor. Those dark, knowing eyes mocked her.
Looking away from them, she smiled up at Tate timorously and ran a hand through her short hair. “I guess I’m not completely used to the changes yet. Would you mind if I took the portrait down?”
“Why would I mind? This is your room. Do whatever the hell you want with it.” He headed for the door. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He soundly closed the door behind him when he left.
His disregard was unarguable. She felt like she’d been dumped in Antarctica and was watching the last plane out disappear over the horizon. He had deposited her where she belonged and considered that the extent of his duty.
This is your room.
The bedroom was museum clean, like it hadn’t been occupied for a long time. She guessed it had been three months—since Carole had left it the morning of the plane crash.
She slid open the closet doors. There were enough clothes hanging inside to outfit an army, but every single article was feminine, from the fur coat to the fussiest peignoir. Nothing in the closet belonged to Tate, nor did anything on the bureau or in any of the many drawers.
Avery dejectedly lowered herself to the edge of the wide, king-size bed. Your room, he had said. Not our room.
Well, she thought dismally, she didn’t have to entertain any more qualms about the first time he claimed conjugal rights, did she? That worry
could be laid aside. She wouldn’t be intimately involved with Tate because he no longer shared that kind of relationship with his wife.
Given his attitude over the last several weeks, it came as no surprise, but it was a vast disappointment. Coupled with her disappointment, however, was shame. It hadn’t been her intention to sleep with him under false pretenses; she didn’t even know if she wanted that. It would be wrong—very wrong. Yet…
She glared up at the portrait. Carole Rutledge seemed to be smiling down at her with malicious amusement. “You bitch,” Avery whispered scathingly. “I’m going to undo whatever you did that caused him to stop loving you. See if I don’t.”
* * *
“You getting enough to eat down there?”
When Avery realized that Nelson was addressing her, she smiled at him down the length of the table. “Plenty, thank you. As good as the food was at the clinic, this tastes delicious.”
“You’ve lost a lot of weight,” he observed. “We’ve got to fatten you up. I don’t tolerate puniness in my family.”
She laughed and reached for her wine. She didn’t like wine, but obviously Carole had. A glass had been poured for her without anyone asking if she wanted it or not. By sipping slowly throughout the meal, she had almost emptied the glass of burgundy that had accompanied the steak dinner.
“Your boobs have practically disappeared.” Seated across from Avery, Fancy was balancing her fork between two fingers, insolently wagging it up and down as she made the snide observation.
“Fancy, you’ll refrain from making rude remarks, please,” Zee admonished.
“I wasn’t being rude. Just honest.”
“Tact is as admirable a trait as honesty, young lady,” her grandfather said sternly from his chair at the head of the table.
“Jeez, I just—”
“And it’s unbecoming for any woman to take the Lord’s name in vain,” he added coldly. “I certainly won’t have it from you.”
