The Senator's Wife Read Free Page A

Ronnie’s head ached, her hand throbbed, and she felt limp from the inside out.
    This was another thing about being married to a senator that she hated. Meet and greet, be nice to the voters. Always on. Smile, no matter how she felt. Well, today she felt lousy. All she wanted was to go home, take a shower and a couple of Tylenol, and lie down.
    Fat chance of that.
    “That went well,” Thea, her press secretary, said cheerfully as fair officials hustled them toward the back of the tent, where a state trooper was holding open a canvas flap for their exit. Thea Cambridge was thirty, only a year older than Ronnie herself. She was attractive, with short dark hair, a slim figure, and a nice sense of style. She had worked for Ronnie for two years now, and Ronnie considered her a friend.
    Passing through the triangular opening, Ronnie walked into a wall of blazing heat, blinding light, swirling dust, and nauseating smells: hot dogs, cotton candy, livestock droppings, vehicle exhaust. For a moment, as her eyes adjusted, she could see nothing. She paused, blinking, her retinue milling around her as they all took a minute to get their bearings.
    Mississippi in July was her idea of hell on earth. If it was not for the thrice-damned polls, she would be summering in Lewis’s cottage in Maine, as she had since they’d been married. Just the thought of that cool green shoreline made her feel hotter now. Lewis’s summerhouse was almost the best thing about being married to him.
    Mississippi in July was, arguably, the worst.
    “Miz Honneker?” The voice was male, deep, and thick as honey with a down-home southern drawl. Though Ronnie still could not see clearly, she suspected a reporter, simply because they always came after her when she least felt like dealing with them. She stretched her mouth into one more smile.
    “Yes?” she said into the glare.
    “I’m Tom Quinlan. This is Kenny Goodman. Quinlan, Goodman, Associates.”
    “Oh, yes?” Vision slowly adjusting, Ronnie saw two men dressed in white shirts and lightweight summer suits standing in front of her. One was plump and sweating, light blue coat open and yellow tie askew, with pale skin and a thick crop of curling black hair. The other, the man who had spoken, was taller, leaner, with blond hair that was just beginning to recede around the temples and the tan complexion of someone who spent a great deal of time outdoors. His gray suit coat was buttoned over a broad-shouldered, athletic-looking frame, his navy tie was in place, and he looked altogether cooler and more collected than his companion.
    “How nice to meet you,” she said, offering first the blond man and then his companion her hand while Thea and the state troopers looked on with varying degrees of caution. It was necessary for the Senator’s wife to be accessible to attract votes, of course, but there was also a slight degree of risk anytime a stranger approached her. Nuts were everywhere these days—and she was a favorite target.
    However, these men seemed harmless enough, even if they did appear to expect her to know their names. Were they perhaps contributors? Big contributors? Should she know their names? Lewis’s office sent a list, periodically updated, of people for her to memorize.
    She was almost sure that the names she had just heard were not on it.
    Her smile widened, just in case. Money was the life-blood of politics, as Lewis had drummed into her head from the time of their marriage. For Lewis, as well as all the other politicians she knew, show me the money was not just a popular catchphrase. It was a way of life. A way of staying alive. For she was convinced that politicians only lived while they held office. Lewis’s senate seat and all that went with it were as necessary to him as the air he breathed, Ronnie thought. He needed the attention, the limelight, the power, the way other men needed food and drink.
    If only she had understood that before she married him.
    “We’re political