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the knowledge that Neil Townsend was a wife batterer would affect the election. People expected a woman to be tough enough and hard enough to make it in a male-dominated world. The scandal of the abuse and potential divorce could very well cost Mrs. Townsend the election. Katie had seen Clara’s husband, a former campaign advisor, on TV and didn’t care for him. He was a fat cat, flashing a large diamond pinkie ring. Television lights reflected off his shaven head, and he snarled and snapped at anyone who crossed him. He reminded Katie of a sleazy pit bull. How could a woman like Clara, a respected senator, put up with the man? No, not man. Katie refused to classify men in general with an abuser. There were too many good men in the world, but a few tarnished the name.
    Katie strode into the terminal searching for a woman with flame red hair wearing a power suit. No one immediately met that description or resembled Clara Townsend. Had Clara and her escort grown tired of waiting for her and left, or had they actually come in the first place? Katie’s eyes skimmed the near-empty terminal. She didn’t want to inquire if Mrs. Townsend’s private plane had arrived, since her presence in Little Bush was to remain quiet — and she was probably traveling incognito. Katie stifled a sigh of exasperation and glanced at her watch again. Where was she? Tottie would hold supper only so long.
    A slender female with long black hair approached, followed by a couple of casually dressed men wearing dark glasses. Katie noted the ugly green bruises on both sides of the woman’s oval-shaped face, injuries that makeup failed to conceal. The politician paused in front of her, removing a pair of jewel-rimmed sunglasses.
    Katie suddenly remembered her appearance. She’d been dashing around in smoke, helping to free the horses, and climbing through wreckage. She smelled of smoke, sweat, and blood. A smear of black grease marred the once pristine surface of her white shirt.
    The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Addison?”
    Katie nodded. “I’m Katie Addison.”
    â€œClara Townsend.” She flicked a gloved hand in the men’s directions, and they picked up a half dozen bags.
    This poor woman looked nothing like the suave, polished Senator Townsend Katie saw on the national news every night.
    The woman lifted a dark, bruised brow. “You’re late.”
    â€œI . . . there was an accident.”
    Townsend brushed the explanation aside. “My time is valuable. In the future, be prompt.” She stepped ahead of Katie and headed toward the exit door.
    Speechless, Katie viewed the stack of bags occupying the men’s arms. “Mrs. Townsend . . . I . . . your room . . . The shelter can’t accommodate that much luggage. One bag. House rule. You’ll have laundry facilities . . .” Her words trailed off as she hurriedly fell into step with the entourage that wasn’t listening to her. She might as well be a vending machine offering bags of trans fat.
    â€œI never go anywhere without a complete wardrobe.” Townsend shoved her way through the glass doorway and outside to the parking lot, where she paused.
    â€œYou do now.” Katie stopped beside her, appalled at her manners. She didn’t want to cause trouble or bring unnecessary stress to the politician, but rules were rules. Besides, Tot-tie would have fits if Katie let this woman drag in six bags, and if Tottie wasn’t happy, nobody was happy. House rule number one.
    â€œYou’ll have to clear that with my people.” Clara’s eyes searched the parking area. “Where’s my transportation?”
    Katie scooted around the baggage-toting men. This was turning ugly. Way to go, Katie. Alienate a guest first thing. Real diplomatic. She inclined her head to the jeep sitting on the first row. Her lips firmed. She towered above the petite politician who was wearing three-inch boots. Katie felt like a