Ann Cristy (Helen Mittermeyer)

by Tread Softly (lit)

  "Sorry to disappoint you. I'm awake, Cady. And I'm going to hold you," he grated next to her ear.

  "It's late," she murmured, loving the feel of his arms tightening around her yet determined not to let him dis­cover how much she wanted him to hold her, not just tonight but for all the nights and all the days of her life.

  "Cady, my little love, it's never too late for what I have in mind," Rafe mumbled into her neck, his teeth taking small nibbles at the cord in the side of her neck. "You're like a luscious, tantalizing dessert that I can't resist. Tonight I'm going to make a feast of you, my Cady."

  "You're crazy," she gasped. "People aren't meals."

  "You're ambrosia to me." Now Rafe's voice was gut­tural as he slid the nightie over her head. "When did you start wearing horse blankets to bed?" he muttered, raising himself back from her to look at her body in the pale light of the moon as it filtered through the sheer curtains at the window. "You still have the same perfect body you had at eighteen. It amazes me that you look the same." His hands followed his eyes down the length of her, his lips taking on a more sensual droop before his mouth dropped to her navel. "I love your body, darling."

  Cady reacted to the endearment like a drawn bow, arching toward him. She reached toward his head, thread­ing her fingers through his hair, wanting to keep him close.

  Before she could say anything, he had lifted his head, sliding up her body, his lips urgent on hers. There was an angry need in his mouth and body, the hunger building there as though he had been banked like a fire that had now erupted into flame.

  She forgot all the reasons why she shouldn't let him touch her. Everything was forced from her senses but her overwhelming need of him. Heated tremors racked her form as every cell in her body reached out to him. The tactile delight she enjoyed as her fingers molded his skull made her dizzy. The warning voice that came from deep inside her was not heeded. She was in the grip of a white heat of desire and longing that erased all reason.

  Their coming together was as explosive as the last time after the barbecue at the Highlands. Cady dropped off to sleep almost at once, hazily aware that she was still held close to Rafe.

  In the morning she felt shy with him. She wasn't able to hold his glance when she spoke to him, but she was aware of the heat in his look. It was the same expression that had always been on Rafe's face when he looked at her in the early days of their marriage, before arguments and misunderstandings replaced it with an opaque, aloof cast to his eyes.

  She dressed with great care for the luncheon, donning a cranberry wool suit with a short hip-length jacket and a straight skirt. She wore black calf shoes with a matching grip bag. Her blouse was ecru silk with fine cranberry lines threaded through the fabric. Just before it was time to leave for the event, which was to be held at one of the local hotels in Monroe County, she closeted herself in her room and pored over her speech, which she had prepared herself. She never let anyone else write her speeches, though she always let one of the election aides proofread them for her.

  The second knock at the door penetrated her con­sciousness. "Yes? Come in."

  "Ready, Cady?" Rafe stood there in a familiar stance. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his jacket thrust backward. His eyes narrowed as she rose to her feet, taking in her outfit and the blood creeping up her cheeks. "Intelligent persons are almost always a little bit nervous before speeches. I am." His grin was cheeky. "And don't say that I'm not intelligent or you'll damage my ego."

  "I won't say that. I'll just say that you have an ego the size of a hot-air balloon," Cady observed, appreci­ating his attempt to keep her relaxed.

  "Really?" Rafe's teeth snapped together in a wolfish grin. He strolled toward her. "Very disloyal remark, Mrs. Densmore."

  Cady wasn't fooled by the bland tone, and she watched him warily. "We'll be late," she warned, stepping back.

  Rafe's arm moved to imprison her before Cady could move again. "Conceited, am I?" He lowered his mouth to her neck.

  "Very," Cady breathed, feeling his hands clasp her waist.

  "It's bad form to insult your husband, lady. You're in trouble," Rafe mumbled, nuzzling his mouth into her hair. "Your hair always smells so"good."

  Cady sighed, her hands slipping around his middle.

  "Cady? Rafe? Are you in there?" Professor Nesbitt called through the door. "Bruno Trabold is here and he says you should hurry."

  Rafe lifted his face, red mottling his features. He stared at Cady for long moments, a muscle working in his jaw. Then his gaze lifted from her face and hardened before he turned toward the door, not releasing her as he spoke. "What the hell is he doing here? Never mind, Thomas, I'll be right there." He looked down again at Cady, a hard smile lifting one comer of his mouth. "Bruno seems to time his arrivals to interfere with us, wouldn't you agree?"

  "I've always thought Bruno was a pain, not just this minute but ever since I've known him," Cady remarked, easing herself out of his arms and straightening her clothes.

  "Especially when he knocked on my bedroom door that first time on Santo Tomas Island, right?" Rafe laughed as he watched the color run up her throat. He leaned down to give her a quick kiss. "I wanted to make love to you that day, Cady. I needed it so much, I thought I'd blow apart, but I also knew the first time should be when we were all alone." He pushed at the soft curve of hair that fell forward on her face. "Funny thing about you, lady. You never become angry when I touch your hair." He feathered her face with his lips. "There's an­other funny thing—I still want you as much as I did that day on Santo Tomas." He pushed back from her and went to the door, calling over his shoulder for her to hurry.

  Cady felt as though someone had nailed her feet to the floor. Had Rafe said he loved her? Was that what he meant? If you wanted someone for a long time, wasn't that love? Oh, damn! She grabbed her handbag. If only she could be objective about Rafe. Maybe then she could remembered them. She would nod and smile and almost always Rafe was there to supply her with the name just at the right time. The tight clasp of his hand was a comfort to her. More than once she saw someone glance at their entwined fingers, but when she tried to pull away, Rafe's clasp only tightened. More than once he leaned down to kiss her cheek or laugh at what she said to someone.

  The ballroom of the hotel was filled to capacity, mak­ing Cady halt at the open double doors in momentary panic. For an instant she wanted to run away, but then she felt Rafe's warm palm at her back as people spotted them from their positions at the round luncheon tables. They all seemed to rise at once and begin applauding. Cady knew that most of these people were enthusiastic about Rafe's candidacy and members of his party, but that didn't stop the rush of good feeling that coursed through her as the applause swelled and there were shouts of "Rafe, Rafe." Her mouth dropped open when she heard people call "Cady, Cady."

  She listened as Rafe gave a satisfied laugh at her side and then hugged her arm close to his body. "They love you, darling, and I don't blame them."

  She looked up at him, feeling a flush of pleasure at his words, but he was looking around at the crowd, smiling and waving.

  The luncheon was the usual pasteboard fare served at political gatherings, but to Cady it tasted like a gourmet delight because she was squeezed close to Rafe on the dais with the other dignitaries. He spoke to everyone near them and smiled often at the people sitting at the round tables in front of the raised platform. Yet it seemed to Cady that whenever Rafe looked past her to speak, he took the opportunity of placing his arm around her shoul­der. When he looked the other way, his hand would grasp hers under the table. She beamed down at her father, who was seated at a table in her line of vision. She was happy. Being with Rafe gave her a special feeling.

  Her sense of well-being lasted through the chicken salad and limp spinach vinaigrette. As the time ap­proached for her to speak, the coffee began to turn acid in her stomach. The familiar flutterings in her abdomen that she'd had to fight since grade school whenever she was called on to recite or answer a question s
eemed to gather momentum. When the chairman of the fund raiser stood to give the opening remarks, Cady switched from coffee to ice water, hoping that her insides would steady. She took deep breaths as the man began his introduction of Rafe, who would in turn introduce her.

  "Cady, I'm very proud to be your husband, and if you rose to your feet and lost your lunch on the mayor's head, I would still be very proud of you," Rafe whis­pered, his breath tickling her ear. He planted a light kiss on her cheekbone.

  Cady hiccupped a laugh, then put her hand over her mouth, gazing reproachfully at her husband as she tried to stifle her mirth at the picture his words had conjured up. He had that puckish look on his face that told Cady he was laughing at her. ,

  Before she could reply, his name was mentioned and the applause rose like a wave.

  With a casual tug at his tie, he bent to kiss her parted lips, the momentary intimacy he gave the caress sur­prising her. Mischief glittered in his eyes as he stepped toward the microphone. Her butterflies evaporated. Her fingers unclenched.

  Rafe's speech was pungent and witty. He didn't take personal swipes at his opponent. Rather, he stressed what had been achieved under his own leadership in the Senate and the crippling effects his opponent's economic poli­cies would have on the state.

  Cady had heard her husband speak many times, but the electric effect he had on audiences never ceased to amaze her. Though he had always lived in the lap of luxury, his political aspirations included reforms for the poor and underprivileged and plans to reinforce the work­ing structure for the middle class. Cady had lost none of the dedication toward Rafe's goals that she had felt as a college sophomore. As she listened to him outline his proposed programs, she was more and more convinced of his caring attitude toward his job.

  When he switched to talk of her and all the benefits that had accrued to him by being married to such an able woman, Cady couldn't help the rush of blood to her face. He praised the work she had done while he lay incapac­itated, outlining her accomplishments to the assembled people. He concluded, "I'm proud to introduce my wife to you. Ladies and gentlemen, Cady Densmore. Come here, darling."

  Cady wasn't sure anyone else had heard his last words because the applause was so loud, but they put steel in her spine. She walked to the mike, accepted his kiss, then turned to smile at the audience as he sat down, waiting for silence.

  Rafe rose once again and walked to the mike, ad­justing it downward. "Sometimes I forget how tiny she is," he mumbled to the audience, making them laugh.

  Cady laughed with them, then began to speak. She told of the the measures she had fought for while Rafe was ill, the struggles she'd had. When she was almost through with her prepared text, she sensed that the au­dience was with her. It gave her a sense of power. When she might have drawn to a close, she pushed her papers aside and looked out at the crowd. She cleared her throat. "I've told you about our goals and what we've done. I know that you are aware, as well, of all my husband went through while he was trapped in the grip of paralysis." She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. "But none of you was there to see this vibrant man totally still except for his eyes—eyes that mirrored his agony yet also showed the indomitable will that wouldn't allow him to surrender or die."

  There wasn't a sound in the cavernous room; not even a swallow. Everyone was frozen, looking at her.

  "There were times when I wanted to give up, but the fire in his eyes wouldn't let me," Cady continued, her voice hoarse. "That's why I know Rafe Densmore will never surrender his integrity or his beliefs in this state. He's the strongest man I know, and he will fight for us and our concerns. Thank you."

  There was total silence as Cady turned away from the mike. Her eyes sought and found her husband's. His face was expressionless. He didn't even rise to hold out her chair. The scrape of the legs of her chair hitting his was like a signal in the stillness.

  There was a roar of applause as chairs were pushed back and people surged to their feet. They shouted, "Rafe, Rafe," and "That-a girl, Cady."

  When the clapping showed no signs of letting up, Rafe rose, bringing Cady with him, holding her close to his side as he waved to the emotion-filled crowd.

  When they were finally able to push their way through the people, and Cady had signed numerous programs and Rafe had done the same, they entered the limousine that would take them to the airport.

  "That was a good touch, Cady," Bruno offered dryly. "Always inject a little tearjerker. Gets 'em every time." He smirked at a pale-faced Cady from his place on the jump seat in the limousine.

  Rafe glowered at him. "Bruno, I think it would be better for you to work with my father from now on. Don't bother coming on the campaign. I won't need you."

  "Hey, Rafe, Emmett won't like that," Bruno blus­tered, his fingers snapping in half the cigar he was about to light.

  "Tough," Rafe responded, his voice flat. "Make sure you're on the flight back to Washington tonight. I'm putting out the word that you won't be on the campaign any longer. If you don't take the flight tonight, you can walk." Rafe leaned across Cady and asked her father if he would like a drink before pushing the switch that opened the built-in bar.

  Rafe was laughing at the professor's look of amaze­ment and didn't see the nasty glance Bruno gave him. Cady saw it and shivered. When Bruno turned that same gaze on her, it took all her courage to face him rather than turn way. Bruno Trabold was Rafe's enemy. Cady had never been more sure of anything in her life.

  She was glad when Bruno left them as soon as they arrived at the county airport. She assured her father that she and Rafe would be back at their home in Tompkins County in upstate New York in a day or so. "Rafe has another rally to attend in the area, then we'll be going to New York City for a couple of days, but we'll come home first."

  "That was a fine speech, Cady," her father told her, his voice mild. "You're a fighter, daughter, just like your mother was." He looked past her at Rafe, who was talking with some of his aides and waiting patiently for Cady to make her good-byes to her father. "I saw a side of Rafe I've never seen before today, Cady. I realized that he is and always has been a lonely person, man and boy. I watched the way he looked at you when you discussed him during your speech. His eyes had the hungry, de­prived look of the very lonely."

  Cady would have scoffed, laughed even, at the pre­posterous notion that Rafe of the large family, the huge circle of friends, could be lonely. She looked at her father's serious, almost grim look and did neither. "Father, you're wrong, I'm sure of it. Rafe is one of the most gregarious men I've ever known. People are naturally drawn to him."

  "I suppose you're right. You should know your own husband," Professor Nesbitt declared woodenly, lifting his grip and heading toward the small private plane that would take him to the airport at Ithaca. A car would be waiting there to take him to his home.

  Cady couldn't get her father's words out of her head on the return car trip to the hotel where they would stay overnight. Rafe was busy talking to an aide now and then, but she felt his intent stare.

  What had Trock said to her while they were walking in the rose garden at the Highlands? That so often Rafe was alone, that his family was very offhand in coming to see him, that there were long hours when he was by himself. Before Cady could consider any more of the questions plaguing her, they were drawing up in front of the hotel and a coterie of media people was lining the sidewalk.

  On entering the hotel lobby they were again besieged by well-wishers and autograph seekers. Cady watched, smiling, as her husband fielded questions and signed numerous pieces of paper or copies of the article that he had written for Day Magazine.

  Cady didn't feel the tug on her arm at first. When she turned around, she looked straight into the eyes of a woman who was a little taller than herself, but older and more careworn. The stranger's brown hair was streaked with gray, the eyes tired but with an innate warmth. Cady smiled and inclined her head, thinking the woman wanted an autograph.

  "Mrs. Densmore, I kn
ow you're a busy woman, but I just have to talk to you. I read the writeup of your opinion of dog fighting. Did you mean it? Are you against the destruction of the bull terrier through illegal fight­ing?"

  Cady frowned at the intense woman, noting how she twisted her hands together. "Yes, I'm very much against pit fighting."

  The woman looked nervously at the crowd of people around her. "I don't like talking here, but I have to speak with you."

  Cady looked at Rafe, who was conversing in an ab­sorbed way with a man who looked like a student. Then she turned to an aide, touching his arm. "Would you tell the senator that I've gone upstairs, please?"

  The man nodded and smiled, throwing a quick glance at the harried woman at Cady's side.

  Cady led the woman to the elevator and pushed the button for their floor. Neither one spoke until the elevator stopped and they had traversed the hall leading to the suite. Cady ushered the woman inside and pointed to a sofa in the all-white window-walled room. Cady rang for coffee, then joined the woman on the couch. "Now, Mrs...."

  "My name is Proctor, Ruth Proctor, and I'm a widow." The woman crossed, then uncrossed her legs, her gaze sliding away from Cady's. "My husband was a wonderful man, Mrs. Densmore, but when he was killed in an industrial accident, I found myself in the position of having to get a job after years of being a housewife. Luckily I found a job with our local police department and can even walk to work. I have one son who has been no trouble to me, but I have a brother-in-law who was nothing but trouble to both my husband and myself.

  "I told him to stay away from my son and me, and he did until about two months ago. Then he came to the house apologizing for being a hindrance to us, and by way of making it up he said he wanted to present our son with a dog, a genuine pit terrier with papers and everything. At first I thought a dog would be too much work, but Max—that's the dog's name—turned out to be a wonderful companion for my son and a good watch­dog. He's very smart and clean. Both Jerry, my son, and I love Max.