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Tate’s arms went around her. The manila envelope fell from her lap onto the floor, but neither noticed. His arm supported her back, and his strong fingers aligned with her ribs beneath the soft weight of her breast.
As he inched her toward the bed, Avery clung to him, curling her fingers into the cloth of his jacket. She deeply inhaled his scent—clean but outdoorsy, fragrant but masculine, with a trace of citrus. His strength permeated her and she imbibed it like an elixir.
She acknowledged then what she had avoided acknowledging during the long, torturous days he had been away. She wanted to become Mrs. Rutledge so she could be close to Tate. Based on the misery she’d felt during his absence and the joy she’d experienced when he had entered her room, that was no less valid a reason than the others. At least, it was just as strong.
He eased her onto the side of the bed, and gingerly touched the thigh of her injured leg. “That was a multiple fracture. The bone’s still not as strong as you’d like to think.”
“I guess not.”
“We were right to decide you should stay here until after the primary. All that activity would be too much for you.”
“Probably.”
Her reply was qualified, because when Zee had told her that had been the decision reached without her consent or consultation, she had felt abandoned, like a family embarrassment that had been hidden away, out of the public eye.
“I can’t wait to come home, Tate.”
Their heads were close. She could see her new face reflected in the pupils of his eyes. His breath wafted over it. She wanted to be held. She wanted to hold him.
Touch me, Tate. Hold me. Kiss me, she wanted to say.
For several heartbeats he seemed to be considering it, then he pulled back.
“I’ll go now,” he said gruffly, “so you can rest.”
She reached for his hand and clasped it as tightly as she was able to. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For… for the flowers and… and for helping me back to bed.”
“That’s nothing,” he said dismissively, pulling his hand free.
She made a wounded sound. “Why do you always refuse my thanks?”
“Don’t play dumb, Carole,” he whispered testily. “Your thanks don’t mean anything to me and you know why.” He said a curt good-bye and left.
Avery was crushed. She had hoped for so much more out of their reunion. Her fantasies of it hadn’t been anything like the grim reality. But what could she expect from a husband who obviously didn’t care a great deal about his wife?
At least he hadn’t detected her lie. From a professional standpoint, she was still on firm ground.
She returned to the chair and picked up the envelope, pried open the metal brad, lifted the flap, and shook the contents into her hand. Her wristwatch was no longer ticking—the crystal had been shattered. A gold earring was missing, but it was no great loss. The item that was most important to her wasn’t there. Where was her locket?
Then she remembered. She hadn’t been wearing her locket when the accident had occurred. Carole Rutledge had had it.
Avery slumped against the chair, lamenting the loss of that treasured piece of jewelry, but she roused herself immediately. She would mourn the loss later. Right now, she had to act.
A few minutes later, a nurse at the central station glanced up from the keyboard of her computer terminal. “Good evening, Mrs. Rutledge. Did you enjoy your visit with your husband?”
“Very much, thank you.” She handed the nurse the envelope. “I have a favor to ask. Would you please mail this for me tomorrow?” The nurse read the address Avery had printed on it. “Please,” Avery pressed, before the nurse could ask any questions.
“I’d be glad to,” she said, though she obviously found it a strange request. “It’ll go out in the morning’s mail.”
“I would rather you not mention this to anyone. My husband accuses me of being too sentimental as it is.”
“All right.”
Avery handed her several folded bills, pilfered from the generous allowance Tate had left with her before his trip. “That’s enough money to cover the postage, I believe. Thank you.”
