Mirror Image

She could disappear, go someplace else, assume a new identity. She was smart and resourceful. She was interested in many things. Journalism wasn’t the only worthwhile field of endeavor.

But those were options generated by panic and fear. Avery knew she would never act upon them. She couldn’t withstand another professional failure, especially one of this magnitude. And what if Tate’s life were lost as a consequence? He and Mandy were now worth more to her than any acclaim. She must stay. With the election only several weeks away, the end was in sight

.

As attested to by the message on her mirror, Carole’s recent unpredictability had made Tate’s enemy angry and nervous. Nervous people made mistakes. She would have to be watchful for giveaways, and at the same time guard against giving herself away.

The stable was still deserted when she returned her mount to his stall. She unsaddled him, gave him a bucket of feed, and rubbed him down.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Alarmed, she dropped the currycomb and spun around. “Tate!” She splayed a hand across her thudding heart. “I didn’t hear you come in. You startled me.”

He was standing at the opening of the stall. Shep sat obediently at his feet, tongue lolling.

“Mandy’s demanding your French toast for breakfast. I told her I’d come find you.”

“I went riding,” she said, stating the obvious.

“What happened to the fancy britches?”

“Pardon?”

“Those…” He gestured along the outside of his thighs.

“Jodhpurs?” Her jeans and boots weren’t fancy, by any means. The shirttail of her simple cotton shirt was hanging loosely over her hips. “I feel silly in them now.”

“Oh.” He turned to go.

“Tate?” When he came back around, she nervously moistened her lips. “I know everyone is furious with me, but your opinion is the only one that matters. Do you hate me?”

Shep lay down on the cool cement floor of the stable and propped his head on his front paws, looking up at her with woeful eyes.

“I’d better get back to Mandy,” Tate said. “Coming?”

“Yes, I’ll be right there.”

Yet neither made a move to leave the stable. They just stood there, staring at each other. Except for the occasional stamping of a shod hoof against the floor or the snuffling of a horse, the stable was silent. Dust motes danced in the stripes of sunlight coming through the windows. The air was still and thick with the pleasing smells of hay and horseflesh and leather. And lust.

Avery’s clothes suddenly seemed constricting. Her hair felt too heavy for her head, her skin too small to contain her teeming body. She ached to go to Tate and place her arms around his waist. She wanted to rest her cheek on his chest and feel the beating of his heart as it had pulsed when he was inside her. She wanted him to reach for her with need and passion again, even if short-term gratification was all he wanted from her.

The desire swirling within her was coupled with despair. The combination was unbearable. She looked away from him and idly reached out to stroke the gelding’s velvet muzzle. He turned away from his oats to affectionately bump her shoulder.

“I don’t get it.”

Her eyes swung back to Tate. “What?”

“He used to breathe fire if you came anywhere near him. You wanted us to sell him to the glue factory. Now you nuzzle each other. What happened?”

She met Tate’s gray eyes directly and said softly, “He learned to trust me.”

He got the message. There was no mistaking that. He held her stare for a long time, then nudged the large dog with the toe of his boot. “Come on, Shep.” Over his retreating shoulder he reminded her, “Mandy’s waiting.”

Thirty-Six

“Be a sweet girl for Daddy.” Tate knelt in front of his daughter and gave her a tight hug. “I’ll be back before you know it and bring you a present.”

Ordinarily, Mandy’s grin would have caused Avery to smile, but she found that impossible to do this morning, the day of Tate’s departure. He stood up. “Call me if she has any breakthroughs.”