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Even as Tate waxed eloquent at a luncheon meeting of professional women, his mind was on that one large bed in the room at the Adolphus Hotel.

After landing at Love Field, they had rushed to check in, freshen up, and make the luncheon on time. The hectic schedule hadn't dimmed his one prevalent thought: tonight he would be sharing a bed with Carole.

"Some corporations, many of which I'm pleased to say are located here in Dallas, have started day-care programs for their employees. But these companies with vision and innovative ideas are still in the minority. I want to see something done about that."

Over the applause, Tate was hearing in his mind the accommodating bellman ask, "Will there be anything else, Mr. Rutledge?"

That's when he should have said, "Yes. I'd prefer a room with separate beds."

The applause died down. Tate covered his extended pause by taking a sip of water. From the corner of his eye, he could see Carole looking up at him curiously from her place at the head table. She looked more tempting than the rich dessert he had declined following lunch. He would decline her, too.

"Equal pay for equal work is a tired subject," he said into the microphone. "The American public is weary of hearing about it. But I'm going to keep harping on it until those who are opposed to it are worn down. Obliterated. Banished."

The applause was thunderous. Tate smiled disarmingly and tried to avoid looking up the skirt of the woman in the front row who was offering him a spectacular view.

While they had scrambled to get ready in the limited time allowed, he'd caught an accidental glimpse of his wife through a crack in the partially opened bathroom door.

She was wearing a pastel brassiere. Pastel hosiery. Pastel garter belt. She had a saucy ass. Soft thighs.

She had leaned into the mirror and dusted her nose with a powder puff. He'd gotten stiff and had stayed that way through the wilted salad, mystery meat, and cold green beans.

Clearing his throat now, he said, "The crimes against women are of major concern to me. The number of rapes is increasing each year, but the number of offenders who are prosecuted and brought to trial is lamentably low.

"Domestic violence has been around as long as there have been families. Thankfully, this outrage has finally come to the conscience of our society. That's good. But is enough being done to reverse this rising trend?

"Mr. Dekker suggests that counseling is the answer. Toward reaching a final solution, yes, I agree. But I submit that police action is a necessary first step. Legal separation from the source and guaranteed safety for the victims—most frequently women and children—is mandatory. Then and only then should counseling and reconciliation be addressed."

When the applause subsided, he moved into the final fervent paragraphs of his speech. As soon as this meeting concluded, they were scheduled to go to a General Motors assembly plant in neighboring Arlington, to mingle with the workers as they changed shifts.

After that they would return to the hotel, watch the evening news, peruse the newspapers, and dress for the formal dinner being held in his honor at Southfork . And late tonight, they would return to the king-size bed.

"I'll be expecting your support in November. Thank you very much."

He received an enthusiastic standing ovation. He signaled for Carole to join him at the podium. She took her place beside him. He slid his arm around her waist, as expected. What wasn't expected was the thrill he got from having her that close, feeling small and feminine against his side. She tilted her head back and smiled up at him with what appeared to be admiration and love.

She could put on a hell of an act.

It was almost half an hour later before Eddy was able to separate them from the adoring crowd that was reluctant to let them go. The September heat struck them like a blast furnace as they exited the meeting hall.

"Jack is holding a call for me back there," Eddy explained as he herded them toward a car parked at the curb. "Some glitch about tonight. Nothing serious. We'll follow you out to the assembly plant. If you don't leave right now you won't make it in time. Know where it is?"

"OffI-30, right?" Tate shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it into the backseat of the rented car.

"Right." Eddy detailed the directions. "You can't miss it. It'll be on your right." He glanced at Carole. "I'll call you a cab back to the hotel."

"I'm going with Tate." She slid beneath his arm into the passenger seat.

"I think—"

"It's okay, Eddy," Tate said. "She can come with me."

"She'll stick out like a sore thumb. That's no ladies' club out there."

"Tate wants me there and I want to go," she argued.

"All right," he conceded, but Tate could tell he was none too pleased. "We'll catch up with you shortly." He closed Carole's passenger door and they sped off.

"He never passes up an opportunity to make me feel like a useless appendage, does he?" she said. "I'm surprised he approved of you marrying me."

"He didn't have a chance. We couldn't track him down, remember?"

"Of course I remember," she said crossly. "I only meant. . .oh, never mind. I don't want to talk about Eddy."

"I know he's not one of your favorite people. Sometimes his nagging can be a real pain in the ass. But his instincts are rarely wrong."

"I trust his instincts," she said. "I'm not so sure I trust him."

"What's he ever done to make you mistrust him?"

She averted her head and gazed out the windshield. "Nothing, I guess. Lord, it's hot."

Leaning as far forward as the seat belt would allow, she pulled off her suit jacket. Beneath it was a matching silk blouse. Beneath that, her breasts filled up the lacy yellow brassiere he'd seen while peeping through the bathroom door.

"You were brilliant, Tate," she remarked. "Not condescending or patronizing. They wouldn't have condoned that. As it was, they were eating out of your hand." She glanced at him sideways. "Especially the one in the bright blue dress on the front row. What color were her panties?"

"She wasn't wearing any."

The blunt retort knocked the props out from under her. She hadn't been expecting it. Her teasing smile evaporated. Again, she turned her head forward and stared through the windshield.

He could tell she was wounded. Well, that was fair, wasn't it? He'd been nursing this ache in his groin for days. Why should he be the only one to suffer? An imp was sitting on his shoulder goading him to make her as miserable as he was.

"I avoided the abortion issue. Did you notice?"

"No."

"I didn't know what to say. Maybe I should have called you to the lectern. You could have given us a firsthand account of what it's like."

When she faced him, there were tears in her eyes. "I told you I'd never had an abortion."

"But I'll never know for certain which time you were lying, will I?"

"Why are you being this way, Tate?"

Because there is aking-size bedin our room, he thought. Before I share it with you, I've got to remind myself of all the reasons I despise you.

He didn't say that, of course.

He took the cloverleaf at the highway interchange at an indiscriminate speed. Once again onastraightaway, he speeded up even more. If it hadn't been for some quick thinking and daredevil driving, he would have overshot the exit.

There was a delegation waiting for them at the gate to the automotive plant. Tate parked a distance away so he'd have time to collect himself before having to be civil. He felt likeabrawl. He wanted to slug it out. He didn't feel like smiling and promising to solve labor's problems when he couldn't even solve his own marital dilemma. He didn't want any part of his wife exceptthatpart, and he wanted it with every masculine fiber of his body.

"Put your jacket back on," he ordered her, even though he was removing his tie and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

"I intend to," she replied coolly.

"Good. Your nipples are poking against your blouse. Or is that what you had in mind?"

"Go to hell," she said sweetly as she shoved open her car door.

He had to give her credit. She recovered admirably from his stinging insults and conversed intelligently with the union bosses who were there to greet them. Eddy and Jack arrived about the time the shift changed and the doors of the plant began to disgorge workers. Those coming to work converged on them from the parking lot. Tate shook hands with everyone he could reach.

Each time he glanced at Carole, she was campaigning just as diligently as he. She listened intently to whomever was speaking with her. As Eddy had said, dressed in her yellow silk, she did stick out in this crowd. Her dark hair reflected the sunlight like a mirror. Her flawless face didn't distance people, but attracted women workers as well as men.

Tate looked for something to criticize, but could find nothing. She reached for dirty hands and gave them a friendly shake. Her smile was unflagging, even though the crowd was rambunctious and the heat unbearable.

And she was the first one to reach his side when something struck him and he went down.

TWENTY-NINE

Avery happened to be watching Tate when his head suddenly snapped backward. Reflexively, he raised his hand to his forehead, reeled, then fell."No!"

There were only a few yards separating them, but the crowd was dense. It seemed to take forever for her to push her way through the people. She ruined her stockings and skinned her knees when she landed on the hot pavement beside Tate.

"Tate! Tate!" Blood was oozing from a wound on the side of his head. "Get a doctor, somebody. Eddy! Jack! Somebody do something. He's hurt!"

"I'm all right." He struggled to sit up. Swaying dizzily, he groped for support, found Avery's arm, and held on tight.

Since Tate could speak and make an effort to sit up, she was sure that the bullet had only grazed him and not penetrated his skull. She cushioned his head on her breasts. His blood ran warm and wet down the front of her clothing, but she didn't even notice.

"Jesus, what happened?" Eddy finally managed to elbow his way through the crowd to them. "Tate?"

"I'm okay," he mumbled. Gradually, Avery released her hold on his head. "Give me a handkerchief."

"They're calling an ambulance."

"No need to. Something hit me." He glanced around him, searching through a forest of feet and legs. "That," he said, pointing to the broken beer bottle lying nearby on the pavement.

"Who the hell threw it?"

"Did you see him?" Avery was prepared to do battle with the attacker.

"No, I didn't see anything. Give me a handkerchief," he repeated. Eddy took one from his pocket. Avery snatched it from him and pressed it to the bleeding gash near Tate's hairline. "Thanks. Now help me up."

"I'm not sure you should try and stand," she cautioned.

"I'm okay." He smiled unsteadily. "Just help me get up off my ass, okay?"

"I could throttle you for joking at a time like this."

"Sorry. Somebody beat you to it."

As she and Eddy helped him to his feet, Jack ran up, huffing for breath. "A couple of the workers don't like your politics. The police have arrested them."

There was a commotion at the far corner of the parking lot. Anti-Rutledge picket signs bobbed up and down like pogo sticks. "Rutledge is a pinko fag," read one. "Vote for a bleeding liberal? You're bleeding crazy!" read another. And "Rutledge is a rutting commie."

"Let's go," Eddy ordered.

"No." Tate's lips were stiff and white from a combination of anger and pain. "I came here to shake hands and ask for votes, and that's what I'm going to do. A couple of bottle throwers aren't going to stop me."

"Tate, Eddy's right." Avery clutched his arm tightly. "This is a police matter now."

She had died a thousand deaths on her headlong rush to reach him. She had thought, "This is it. This is what I wanted to prevent, and I have failed to." The incident brought home to her just how vulnerable he was. What kind of protection could she offer him? If someone wanted to kill him badly enough, he could. There wouldn't be a damn thing she or anyone else could do to prevent it.

"Hello, I'm Tate Rutledge, running for the U.S. Senate." Stubbornly, Tate turned to the man standing nearest him. The UAW member looked down at Tate's extended hand, then glanced around uncertainly at his co-workers. Finally, he shook Tate's hand. "I would appreciate your vote in November," he told the man before moving to the next. "Hi, I'm Tate Rutledge."

Despite his advisers, Tate moved through the crowd, shaking hands with his right hand, holding the blood-stained handkerchief to his temple with the left. Avery had never loved him so much.

Nor had she ever been more afraid for him.

"How do I look?"

Tate asked for her opinion only after dubiously consulting his reflection in the mirror. He'd remained on the parking lot of the assembly plant until those going off duty had left for home and those reporting to work had gone inside.

Only then had he allowed Eddy and her to push him into the backseat of the car and rush him to the nearest emergency room. Jack, who followed in the second car, joined them there, where a resident physician took three stitches and covered them with a small, square white bandage.

Avery had placed a call to Nelson and Zee from the emergency room, knowing that if they heard about the incident on the news they would be worried. They insisted on speaking with Tate. He joked about the injury, although Avery saw him gratefully accept the painkiller the nurse gave him.

A horde of reporters was waiting for them in the lobby of the Adolphus when they returned. They surged forward en masse. "Be sure they get pictures of the blood on your dress," Eddy had told her out the side of his mouth.

For that insensitive remark, she could easily have scratched his eyes out. "You bastard."

"I'm just doing my job, Carole," he said blandly. "Making the most of every situation—even the bad ones."

She had been too incensed to offer a comeback. Besides, they were battling their way through microphones and cameras toward the elevators. At the door to their room, she confronted Jack and Eddy, who were about to follow them inside.