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The engagement book had shed no light on what Carole did to fill her days. Obviously, she wasn’t a member of any clubs. She had few or no friends because no one called. That came both as a surprise and a relief to Avery, who had been afraid that a covey of confidantes would descend, expecting to pick up where they had left off before Carole’s accident.
Apparently, no such close friends existed. The flowers and cards she had received during her convalescence must have come from friends of the family.
Carole had held no job, had no hobbies. Avery reasoned that she should be thankful for that. What if Carole had been an expert sculptress, artist, harpist, or calligrapher? It had been difficult enough teaching herself in private to write and eat with her right hand.
She was expected to do no chores, not even make her own bed. Mona took care of the house and did all the cooking. A yard man came twice a week to tend to the plants in the courtyard. A retired cowboy, too old to herd cattle or to rodeo, managed the stable of horses. No one encouraged her to resume an activity or interest that had been suspended as a result of her injuries.
Carole Rutledge had been a lazy idler. Avery Daniels was not.
The door to Tate’s private office opened. He emerged in the company of a barrel-chested, middle-aged man. They were laughing together.
Avery’s heart accelerated at the sight of Tate, who was wearing a genuinely warm smile. His eyes were crinkled at the corners with the sense of humor he never shared with her. Eddy constantly nagged him to trade in his jeans, boots, and casual shirts for a coat and tie. He refused unless he was making a scheduled public appearance.
“Who am I trying to impress?” he had asked his perturbed campaign manager during a discussion relating to his wardrobe.
“Several million voters,” Eddy had replied.
“If I can’t impress them by what I’m standing for, they sure as hell aren’t going to be impressed by what I’m standing in.”
Nelson had drolly remarked, “Unless it’s bullshit.”
Everybody had laughed and that had been the end of the discussion.
Avery was glad Tate dressed as he did. He looked sensational. His head was bent at the listening angle that she had come to recognize and find endearing. One lock of hair dipped low over his forehead. His mouth was split in a wide grin, showing off strong, white teeth.
He hadn’t seen her yet. At unguarded moments like this, she reveled in looking at him before contempt for his wife turned his beautiful smile into something ugly.
“Now, this is a treat!”
The booming bass voice snapped Avery out of her love-struck daze. Tate’s visitor came swiftly toward her on short, stocky legs that were reminiscent of Irish. She was scooped up into a smothering bear hug and her back was hammered upon with exuberant affection. “Gawddamn, you look better than you ever have, and I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Hello, Mr. Bridges.”
“ ‘Mr. Bridges?’ Shee-ut. Where’d that come from? I told Mama when we saw you on the TV that you’re prettier now than you were before. She thought so, too.”
“I’m glad I have your approval.”
He wagged two stubby fingers, holding a cigar, near the tip of her nose. “Now you listen to ol’ Barney, darlin’, those polls don’t meant a gawddamn thing, you hear? Not a gawddamn thing. I told Mama just the other day that those polls ain’t worth shee-ut. You think I’d put my money on the boy here,” he said, walloping Tate between the shoulder blades, “if I didn’t think he was gonna put the screws to that gawddamn Dekker on election day? Huh?”
“No sir, not you, Barney,” she replied, laughing.
“You’re gawddamn right I wouldn’t.” Cramming the cigar into the corner of his mouth, he reached for her and gave her another rib-crunching hug. “I’d purely love to take y’all to lunch, but I got a deacons’ meetin’ at the church.”
“Don’t let us keep you,” Tate said, trying to keep a straight face. “Thank you again for the contribution.”
Barney waved away the thanks. “Mama’s mailin’ hers in today.”
Tate swallowed with difficulty. “I… I thought the check was from both of you.”
“Hell no, boy. That was only my half. Gotta go. The church is a long way from here, and Mama gets pissed if I drive the Vette over seventy in town, so I promised not to. Too many gawddamn crazies on the road. Y’all take care, you hear?”
He lumbered out. After the door had closed behind him, the secretary looked up at Tate and wheezed, “Did he say half?”
“That’s what he said.” Tate shook his head in disbelief. “Apparently he really believes that the polls aren’t worth shee-ut.”
Mary laughed. So did Avery. But Tate’s smile had disappeared by the time he had ushered her into his office and closed the door. “What are you doing here? Need some money?”
When he addressed her in that curt, dismissive tone of voice, which he reserved for the times when they were alone, each word was like a shard of glass being gouged into her vitals. It made her ache. It also made her mad as hell.
