QUINTRELL RANCH
TUESDAY MORNING
JOSH QUINTRELL HUNG UP THE PHONE AND RUBBED HIS FOREHEAD.
"Headache, darling?" Anne asked.
He looked up from his desk. His wife, as always, was a walking definition of wealth and breeding. At the moment she was dressed "casually" in supple leather jeans and handmade Ruidoso boots, five-hundred-dollar designer shirt, and discreet Tiffany jewelry at ears and wrists and throat. A four-carat diamond flashed against her simple gold wedding band. If there had been a photographer around, the diamond would have been in a locked case and the gold band would have sent its own quiet message to the voters who cared enough to look: despite family wealth and the fame of high political office, Josh and Anne were real people.
"He wants me to step up the amount of time I'm on the road," Josh said.
Anne knew that "he" had to be Mark Rubin, Josh's campaign manager and the one man Josh took orders from.
"Isn't it a bit soon after the funeral?" she asked.
"That's what I said. He said that voters have a short attention span. I've been out of circulation too much. I need to be on some front pages and be featured in some six o'clock news leads."
"We can be packed and gone by afternoon."
"What about Andy?"
She hesitated. A line of tension appeared between her beautifully shaped eyebrows. "He'll go with us. He thought about what you said and decided rehab was best for everyone."
"Translation: He put the bite on you and you turned him down."
She nodded jerkily. "I still think…"
He bit back a twist of anger and said, "Yes?"
"I…" Slowly she shook her head. "I wish there was another way."
"Can you think of anything we haven't tried?" His voice was patient despite the frustration that gnawed a hole in his gut every time he thought of his spoiled son screwing up a lifetime of work. Two lifetimes, if you counted the Senator. "We've done shrinks, meds, military schools, soft-love schools, tough-love schools, guilt trips, shouting matches, and New Age fuzzy-wuzzy. Nothing has done any good. The older he gets, the more he reminds me of Liza. Wild, careless, dangerous. Hell-bound and willing to take everyone along."
Tears glistened. Anne didn't argue.
"I know it's old-fashioned," Josh said slowly, "but I think there's some bad seed in the Quintrell line. Sure as hell there are some kinks. The Senator knew what he was doing when he cut Liza loose. She would have ruined his public life."
"Are you," she swallowed, "thinking of legally severing ties between us and our son? Of disowning him the way the Senator disowned Liza? At least he-he gave her money sometimes. Didn't he?"
Josh ignored the hopeful question. "I'm praying Andy will get his act together. I'm hoping you'll help him by letting him go. He'll never stand on his own as long as you're busy giving him money and propping him up behind my back."
Anne flushed. "I've only done that-"
"Every damn time he got close to hitting bottom," Josh cut in coldly. "Every damn time he would have had to suck it up and grow up."
"I couldn't see him go hungry!"
Josh snorted. "Fat chance of that and you know it. When he's sober, he can charm chrome off a trailer hitch."
Her fingers twisted together. "I know you're right. It's just… he was such a beautiful little boy."
"Liza was a beautiful little girl. As an adult she was a liar, a whore, and a junkie." Josh stood and went to Anne. He needed her for the campaign to come, needed her as first lady if he won. And he had a very good chance of doing just that. The other candidates from his party would drop out after a few primaries. After that his only opposition was the aging vice president to a president nobody liked anymore. "I can't do this without you. Are you in or out?"
"In," she whispered.
He nodded. "You'll be the most beautiful first lady ever. Designers will stand in line to have you wear their creations. You'll be able to chair committees, lobby politicians at parties, and get the nation interested in your favorite charities."
She smiled. "I'm looking forward to that-the committees, fashion shows, charities. One of the first things we should do is cut the Senator's standing contributions so that we can make our own name on the charity circuit."
"I put Pete to work on it already."
"Perhaps a more high-powered accountant," she began. Then she saw Melissa out in the hallway. "I'm sure Pete will get the job done," Anne said loudly, telling Josh that they weren't alone anymore.
"He always has," Josh said, turning toward the doorway. "What is it, Melissa?"
"You asked me to tell you when Miss Winifred and her personal historian were together. They're working in the Sisters' Suite right now."