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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

"Tate, I need a minute of your time."

Avery barreled through the previously closed door, interrupting the conference being held in the large den at the ranch house.

Jack, who had been speaking when she made her peremptory entrance, was left standing in the midst of them with his hand frozen in a gesture and his mouth hanging open.

"What is it?" Tate asked, looking particularly ill-tempered. Eddy was frowning with annoyance; Jack was cursing beneath his breath. Nelson's displeasure was just as clear, but he made an attempt at civility. "Is it an emergency?

Mandy?''

"No, Nelson. Mandy's at nursery school."

"Is it something Zee can help you with?"

"I'm afraid not. I need to speak privately to Tate."

"We're in the middle of something here, Carole," he said testily. "Is it important?"

"If it weren't important, I wouldn't have interrupted you."

"I'd rather you wait until we get finished or handle the crisis yourself."

She felt her cheeks grow warm with indignation. Since their return home several days earlier, he had gone out of his way to avoid her. It had come as a vast disappointment but only a mild surprise that he hadn't moved back into the yellow bedroom she occupied. Instead, he'd resumed sleeping alone in the adjoining study.

Their lovemaking hadn't drawn them closer. Rather, it had widened the gap between them. The morning following it, they'd barely made eye contact. Words had been few. The mood had been subdued, as though something nefarious had transpired and neither party involved wanted to own up to it. She had taken her cue from Tate and pretended that nothing had happened in that wide bed, but the effort to remain impassive had made her cantankerous.

He had acknowledged it only once, as they waited for the bellman to come for their luggage. "We didn't use anything last night,'' he had said in a low, strained voice as he gazed out over the Dallas skyline.

"I don't have AIDS," she had snapped waspishly, wanting to prick his seemingly impenetrable aloofness.  She succeeded.

He came around quickly. "I know. They would have discovered it while you were in the hospital."

"Is that why you felt it was okay to touch me? Because I was disease-free?"

"What I want to know," he ground out, "is if you could get pregnant."

Glumly, she shook her head. "Wrong time of the month. You're safe on all accounts."

That had been the extent of the conversation about their lovemaking, although that term elevated the act into something it hadn't actually been, at least for Tate. She felt like a one-night stand—an unpaid prostitute. Any warm, female body would have suited him. For the time being, he was sated. He wouldn't need her for a while.

She resented being so disposable. Used once—well, twice, actually—then thrown away. Perhaps Carole's unfaithfulness had been justified. Avery was beginning to wonder if Tate got off just as easily on the heady thought of becoming a senator as he did on sex. He certainly spent more time in pursuit of that than he did cultivating a loving relationship with his wife, she thought peevishly.

"All right," she said now, "I'll handle it."

She pulled the den door closed with a hard slam. Less than a minute later she was slamming another door in the house—this one to Fancy's bedroom. The girl was sitting on her bed, painting her toenails fire engine red. A cigarette was burning in the nightstand ashtray. Condensation was collecting on the cold drink can beside the ashtray. Stereo headphones were bridging her head. Her jaws were working a piece of Juicy Fruit to the rhythm of the music.