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Droplets of water leaked from the faucet into the tub, making soft little splashes that were oddly comforting. Tears rolled down her cheeks, off her chin, onto her chest, then followed the valleys of her body into the water. Each time she thought she had cried herself out, she would remember something else endearing about Cronkite and the cycle would begin again. Fresh tears would find their way through her closed eyelids and eventually into the bath.

It wasn’t until she felt cool air against her skin that she realized she was no longer alone. She opened her eyes. Bondurant was standing in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, the other on the jamb, eyes fixed on her.

Barrie didn’t move. It would have been useless to reach for something to cover herself. He’d already seen everything there was to see. He’d already touched everything, too. Intimately. Her body began to respond similarly to the way it had that morning in his bedroom, with a fluttering heat.

“Are you okay?”

Unable to speak, she nodded.

“You’ve been crying.”

She couldn’t think of an appropriate response, so she said nothing and continued to hold his stare. It wavered only once, when his eyes flickered over her body before returning to her face.

Gruffly, he said, “Rocket, Tramp, and Doc.”

Puzzled, she shook her head slightly.

“My horses. They do have names.”

He stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door closed.

Chapter Sixteen

Senator Clete Armbruster arrived at the White House early the following morning, demanding to see the President immediately. He was informed that the President was awake but hadn’t yet left his private quarters. Armbruster said he would wait. He was escorted into the Oval Office and offered coffee. He had almost finished his second cup when David Merritt strode in, looking as fit as always but somewhat irritable.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Clete. What’s so urgent? Thanks,” he said to the secretary who’d passed him a cup of coffee. “You can leave us alone now.”

Clete was impatient by nature. He’d been up since four. He’d dressed and read the Post, killing time until he could call on the President at what he considered a reasonable hour. The long wait had given him time to work up a full head of steam.

He wasted no time. “I want to see my daughter. Today.”

“I was told you went to Highpoint yesterday.”

“I’m sure you were also told by that quack who passes himself off as a doctor that he refused to let me see her.”

“At her request, Clete. Are you taking your blood pressure medicine? Your face is beet red.”

His son-in-law’s unflappability raised his blood pressure even higher. “Listen here, David, I want to know what’s wrong with Vanessa. Why the isolation? Why the full-time nurse? If she’s that sick, she should be in a hospital.”

“Calm down, Clete, before I have to take you to the hospital.” Merritt led the senator to a sofa, then sat down beside him. “Vanessa’s been drinking. Alcohol and her medication don’t mix well. George and I confronted her about it, and she agreed to get treatment for her dependency.”

“Dependency? It’s gotten so bad as to classify it as that?”

“Clinically, I doubt it. That was Vanessa’s term. But she realized that a few glasses of wine every day could develop into a more serious problem if she didn’t stop it now.”

“Why didn’t she confide in me? Why didn’t you?”

“I wanted to tell you,” David said. “I wanted to ask your advice, but Vanessa insisted that you not be told.”

“Why not?”

“She was ashamed, Clete.” Merritt got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. “She didn’t want you to be disappointed in her. She thinks the sun rises and sets in you.”

“And vice versa. She’s always come to me with her problems, and I’ve fixed them for her.”

Vanessa had been only thirteen when her mother died, but Clete hadn’t panicked at being left alone to raise his teenage daughter. Vanessa had always been Daddy’s girl. He’d doted on her from the day she was born and had wielded more influence over her childhood than had his wife.

Maybe he had spoiled her a little, but he excused his excesses. Some people seemed naturally entitled to pampering, and Vanessa had always been one of them. In early adulthood, when her disorder was diagnosed, Clete regarded it as even more reason to coddle and protect her.