by Sandra Brown
“You two need to put a stop to this. Immediately.” He took Zee’s arm and propelled her toward the door. She seemed reluctant to leave and looked at Avery anxiously.
“She’ll be all right,” Avery said, rubbing Mandy’s back. She was still hiccuping sobs, but the worst was over.
“Sometimes they come back,” Zee said uneasily.
“I’ll stay with her for the rest of the night.” When she and Tate were left alone with the child, Avery said, “Why didn’t you tell me her nightmares were this severe?”
He sat down in the rocking chair near the bed. “You had your own problems to deal with. The dreams stopped happening with such regularity, just like the psychologist predicted they would. I thought she was getting over them.”
“I still should have known.”
Avery continued to hold Mandy tight against her, rocking back and forth and murmuring reassurances. She wouldn’t let go until Mandy indicated that she was ready. Eventually, she raised her head.
“Better now?” Tate asked her. Mandy nodded.
“I’m sorry you had such a bad dream,” Avery whispered, wiping Mandy’s damp cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. “Do you want to tell Mommy about it?”
“It’s going to get me,” she stammered on choppy little breaths.
“What is, darling?”
“The fire.”
Avery shuddered with her own terrifying recollections. They seized her sometimes unexpectedly and it often took several minutes to recover from them. As an adult, she found it hard to deal with her memories of the crash. What must it be like for a child?
“I got you out of the fire, remember?” Avery asked softly. “It’s not there anymore. But it’s still scary to think about, isn’t it?” Mandy nodded.
Avery had once done a news story with a renowned child psychologist. During the interview she recalled him saying that denying the authenticity of a child’s fears was the worst thing a parent could do. Fears had to be acknowledged before they could be dealt with and, hopefully, overcome.
“Maybe a cool, damp cloth would feel good on her face,” Avery suggested to Tate. He left the rocker, and returned shortly with a washcloth. “Thank you.”
He sat down beside her as she bathed Mandy’s face. In a move that endeared him to Avery, he picked up the Pooh Bear and pressed it into Mandy’s arms. She clutched it to her chest.
“Ready to lie back down?” Avery asked her gently.
“No.” Apprehensively, her eyes darted around the room.
“Mommy’s not going to leave you. I’ll lie down with you.”
She eased Mandy back, then lay down beside her, facing her as their heads shared the pillow. Tate pulled the covers over both of them, then bridged their pillow with his arms and leaned down to kiss Mandy.
He was wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. His body looked exceptionally strong and beautiful in the soft glow of the night-light. As he started to stand up, his eyes locked with Avery’s. Acting on impulse, she laid her hand on his furry chest and raised her head to lightly kiss his lips. “Good night, Tate.”
He straightened up slowly. As he did, her hand slid down his chest; over the hard, curved muscles; across the nipple; through the dense, crisp hair; to the smoother plane of his belly; until her fingertips brushed against the elastic waistband of his briefs before falling away.
“I’ll be right back,” he mumbled.
He was gone only a few minutes, but by the time he returned, Mandy was sleeping peacefully. He had pulled on a lightweight robe, but had left it unbelted. As he lowered himself into the rocking chair, he noticed that Avery’s eyes were still open. “That bed’s not meant for two. Are you comfortable?”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t think Mandy would know if you got up now and went to your own room.”
“I would know. And I told her I’d stay with her the rest of the night.” She stroked Mandy’s flushed cheek with the back of her finger. “What are we going to do, Tate?”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he sat forward and dug his thumbs into his eye sockets. A tousled lock of hair fell over his forehead. With stubble surrounding it, the vertical cleft at the edge of his chin seemed more pronounced. He sighed, expanding his bare chest beneath the open robe. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think the psychologist is doing her any good?”
He raised his head. “Don’t you?”
“I shouldn’t second-guess the choice you and your parents made while I was indisposed.”
She knew she shouldn’t get involved at all. This was a personal problem and Avery Daniels had no right to poke her nose into it. But she couldn’t just stand by and let a child’s emotional stability deteriorate.
“If you have an opinion, be my guest and say so,” Tate urged. “This is our child we’re talking about. I’m not going to get petty about who had the best idea.”
“I know of a doctor in Houston,” she began. One of his eyebrows arched inquisitively. “He… I saw him on a talk show once and was very impressed with what he had to say and how he conducted himself. He wasn’t pompous. He was very straightforward and practical. Since the current doctor isn’t making much progress, maybe we should take Mandy to see him.”
“We haven’t got anything to lose. Make an appointment.”
“I’ll call tomorrow.” Her head sank deeper into the pillow, but she kept her eyes on him. He sat back in the rocking chair and rested his head against the stuffed pink cushion. “You don’t have to sit there all night, Tate,” she said softly.
Their eyes met and held. “Yes, I do.”
She fell asleep watching him watch her.
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 to be his 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. S
he was standing within touching distance.
“What time is it?” he asked with sleepy huskiness.
“I don’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, I guess.”
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 and brought 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 that should 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. This abortion wasn’t an issue. 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-ove
r. “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.
