She gazed down at his groin. 'I don't want anything material,' she said, frowning, and then looked back up at him. 'This won't cost you a thing.'
He turned to her again, his eyes filled with suspicion. He knew only too well how much material possessions meant to Jenny—and how much that facet of her personality was costing him. Her latest project was sprucing up the house both inside and out. She was planting a lavish garden around the pond in the front of the house with the help of the three full-time gardeners she'd hired. Simultaneously she was redecorating the inside of the mansion, and she'd already spent a small fortune on antique furnishings and cracked old paintings. And on top of all that was her greatest love- clothes. She spent a fortune on outfits she never had time to wear, and had already accumulated so many that one of the carpenters had to transform one entire bedroom into a walk-in closet. 'Well?' he said.
'I decided that instead of wanting something, I want someone.' She paused. 'Someone who works for you. I want to know exactly what he's up to at all times. And I'd like to have the last say in any decisions affecting him.'
'You're asking for a lot. You want power.'
'Only over two people,' she said quickly.
'Who's the first?'
'Zaccheus Hale.'
'And who's the second? Me?'
'Don't make jokes like that,' she snapped irritably. 'You should know better than that.' She shook her head. 'The second one's Hale's wife.'
He looked thoughtful and drove on in silence for a while. It was true, he reminded himself: after she'd borne him a son, he had felt so magnanimous that he had offered her anything she wanted, and he wasn't a man known to go back on his word. Still, Zaccheus Hale was a valued employee. The man he trusted most.
'Hale's important to me,' he said finally. 'He's got things under control like they've never been before. I depend on him.' His eyes flicked sideways at her. 'What do you want with him?'
'I want to destroy him.' Her voice was a low, intense whisper.
He looked at her sharply.
'Watch out!' she cried.
He turned forward and swerved just in time to avoid a head-on collision with the daily Brownsville-to- Laredo bus coming from the other direction.
Horns blared angrily and the bus roared past with just inches to spare.
Jenny sighed with relief and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. Her head was pounding and her heart was palpitating from the sudden surge of adrenaline. Slowly it receded and she felt herself settling back down.
'You want me to fire Hale?' Tex asked suddenly.
She swung around to face him. 'No!' she hissed sharply, her eyes blazing. 'I want to destroy him.'
'How?'
'I don't know,' she lied, knowing full well that she had already planned every last intricate step toward Zaccheus' destruction. The only thing she did not yet know was when. She only knew it had to be when the time was absolutely perfect. She would wait years if need be—an inescapable web of iron needed time to construct. And besides, why should she ruin her own perverse joy by being too hasty? The sword had to descend at precisely the moment when it would hurt Zaccheus and Elizabeth-Anne the most. When that happened, her own pleasure would be unbearable.
'You're positive that this is what you want?'
She nodded. 'Another thing,' she said, fighting to keep the excitement out of her voice. 'I'll give you plenty of warning before I strike. That way, you'll have time to find and train a replacement for him.'
'I don't know,' he said slowly. 'I need Zaccheus. What'll I do without him?'
'Wasn't it you who told me only a few days ago that everyone is expendable?'
He grunted.
'Well, then, isn't Zaccheus Hale expendable too?'
He sighed. 'I suppose so.'
'In fact,' she said slowly, 'it would be poetic justice, would it not, if you let him find himself an assistant? If you had him choose his own successor without his even knowing what he's doing? If he's as smart and valuable as you think he is, I'm sure he'll come up with a most likely candidate.'
Tex grinned suddenly. 'Know what? You're a regular Machiavelli.'
She shrugged.
'No, I take that back. You're not a Machiavelli after all.'
'Then what am I?'
'Salome.'
She laughed. 'And I suppose Zaccheus Hale will be my John the Baptist?'
'If I let you have his head on a platter, yes,' he replied pointedly.
'It's important to me, Tex,' she said slowly. 'Very important.' She resumed toying with his crotch.
'Mind at least telling me why you've got it out for him?'
'Not at all.' Her hand slid further down into his crotch, her nimble fingers feeling for the length of his penis, which she knew lay against his left trouser leg, trapped there by his underwear. Already she could feel it was semierect. She smiled to herself and began to massage it in gentle, slow circles. 'I've got it in for Zaccheus Hale,' she said softly, 'because I don't like him. And because I despise that wife of his.'
'But you grew up together,' Tex said, trying to concentrate on the road, a feat which was becoming increasingly difficult. He licked his lips, a third of his mind on the sexual tension building up within him, sweet and unbearable, another third on the road, and the rest on the conversation. 'Weren't you two at one time like . . .'He sighed as a quiver rippled through him. '. . . sisters?'
For an instant her hand was still. 'Sisters!' she spat, then continued to stroke him. 'God, no.' She laughed bitterly. 'I couldn't stand her. We got off on the wrong foot right from the start. She wormed her way into my life, stole Auntie's affection, and now she's waltzing off with what should be my house and home.'
'I thought you told me you didn't want it.'
'I don't. But I can't stand to see her getting it either.' She sighed. Then she quickened her stroke, and he growled in frustration as he felt his penis straining painfully against the double layers of restraining fabric.
'I want it, Tex,' she whispered. 'Let's do it right here. In the car.' Her eyes glowed with excitement.
'Are you crazy?' he growled, but she could feel the ever-more-stiffening penis under her touch. It was rock hard now, trying to tent his whipcord trousers. Abruptly she changed her circular strokes and strummed her fingernails lightly across it.
'Dammit, Jenny!' He slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. He stopped the car with a jerk, glanced in the rearview mirror, and scanned the road up ahead. There was no traffic coming in either direction.
He scooted sideways, toward her. 'All right,' he said quietly. 'You've got it. Against my better judgment.'
'Got what?' she asked in a trembling voice, afraid to anticipate, afraid to hear his verdict.
'Him later. Me now.'
Suddenly she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him close.
'Thanks, Tex,' she whispered in his ear, her breath warm and sweet and fragrant.
He gazed deep into her eyes, trying, futilely as always, to pierce through their cloudy armor. 'Why thank me?' he replied. 'You're Mrs. Tex Sexton. And we're very much alike, aren't we, Jenny? We both want the same thing.'
She nodded and sought his lips, nibbling and gnawing at them with her teeth. Then she thrust her tongue urgently between them. She was filled with a lust such as she had never experienced before, and felt a moistness dribbling down the hot flesh of her thighs. There was nothing, she thought, to intensify the pleasure of sex like getting absolute control over someone's destiny. Sex and power. Combined . . . combined, they made her feel suddenly invincible.
Slowly she pushed him away, her fingers expertly undoing his fly. She reached inside and pulled out his phallus.
It leapt in her hand, trembling and rigid, the veins standing out in bold relief. She stared at it, her eyes gleaming hungrily, and then she slid back the foreskin. The purplish-red tip was shiny and moist.
With startling swiftness she plunged her head down and swallowed him deeper than she had ever swal
lowed him before. Her head bobbed up and down, her mouth making urgent suction sounds, and all the while her mind was aswirl with thoughts of power. Before long, she could feel his phallus getting ready to burst. Then she heard the strangled cry coming up in Tex's throat, and in a fit of exquisite passion she plunged down, eating him as deeply as she could while burrowing her nose in the curly nest of his pubic hair.
The semen spouted forth powerfully, and she swallowed it greedily, wave after bursting wave, the thick, salty semen tasting all the more delicious because she knew it came from the wellspring of her newly acquired power.
14
Only after Elender was buried and Elizabeth-Anne found herself the sole beneficiary of her last will and testament did the finality of death truly sink in. Up until then there had been a dreamlike air of unreality about it all. There had been altogether too many things to arrange—the burial, the service, the flowers. As Jenny had divorced herself completely from Elender, it was Elizabeth-Anne upon whom the duties of the daughter had fallen. She received all the friends and acquaintances, who offered her their sincerest condolences and, strangely enough, whom she ended up comforting as much as they comforted her. It helped her vent her immediate shock and grief, enough, at least, to help carry her through the first few unbearable days.
The sheer number of mourners staggered her. She had never stopped to realize just how popular Auntie had been; it had taken death to make her take notice of that, and Elizabeth-Anne sensed that these were not mere displays of sadness and grief . . . these were authentic emotions. Elender Hannah Clowney had been genuinely liked. She had been a pillar of the community, and even if she hadn't earned the abiding love of everyone, she had certainly gained their unanimous admiration and respect, a feat which was rare indeed.
Then there had been the reading of the will, and that suddenly hammered home her grief. After the flurried hurricane of activity, she suddenly found herself in a vacuum, with time on her hands to think. It was then that the pain and the profound sense of loss set in. She knew she was helpless to fight against it, so she let it come. And what a terribly cruel pain it was! Auntie had been a mother to her, as well as her confidante, mentor, 'aunt,' and best friend. She found herself grieving for all these individuals separately, realizing just how many people she had lost with the death of one unique individual.
In order to draw strength for herself, Elizabeth-Anne drew her family around her and hugged them close, seeking solace and comfort from them, and that helped reduce the pain. But she discovered, to her amazement, that it was Auntie's legacy which alleviated her grief most of all. Although she had been helping Auntie for years, working in both the café and the rooming house, suddenly finding herself the owner of these businesses was quite a different matter from simply working in them. Far more time and dedication were required of her, and for that she was grateful. Just when she was afraid that she had too much time on her hands in which to conjure up painful memories and mourn forever, she had no choice but to throw herself into the businesses with all the energy and stamina she could muster.
And energy it drained out of her, which was precisely what she wanted. The more fiendishly she pushed herself, and the more ragged she ran herself, the less time she had in which to be confronted by her loss.
Zaccheus offered to quit his job working for Tex Sexton in order to help her with the two businesses, and he was both disappointed and pleased that she did not want his help. 'At least not yet, Zaccheus,' she tried to explain. 'It's good for me to keep every minute of the day filled.'
But the thing which surprised them both the most was that, just as he was considering quitting his job in order to help out, Tex offered him a handsome raise no one in his right mind could refuse.
'It's destined, you see?' Elizabeth-Anne flashed Zaccheus her first strained, fleeting smile in weeks. 'You have your work, just as I have mine. Besides, if we worked together, who would be in charge? You? Me?' Her lips held another ghost of a smile and she took his hands and held them. 'I'm afraid we'd only begin to squabble and end up hating each other. And I don't want that to happen . . . not ever.' She shook her head. 'It just isn't healthy for a young married couple to be around each other twenty-four hours every day. Besides, after you've been gone all day, each time you come home I feel like a newly wed.'
He looked down at her, his face serious but his lips and eyes smiling. 'Mama,' he said softly, using that endearment for the first time ever, 'you're something else. You know that?'
She laughed suddenly, and after the dark, quiet weeks of solemnity, the sound of happiness was music to his ears. His own happy laughter merged with hers. Then he hugged her fiercely, a pleased, grateful expression on his face.
'Now, off you go,' she said, slapping his buttocks affectionately. 'Your day may be over, Zaccheus Hale, but mine isn't. Not by a long shot.'
And as he grinned and walked off, she regarded him fondly, thinking to herself: Why shouldn't he look pleased? And why shouldn't I be? It is high time to take stock of our blessings. We've both come through a great deal together, some things which many marriages couldn't have survived. The three girls are turning out beautiful and intelligent. Regina is already . . . seven? She frowned. Is that possible? Has time flown by that quickly ?
With death had come reflections of blessings which up to now had been taken for granted.
They all enjoyed good health. They were happy. Overall, despite the tensions and naturally competitive circumstances of each workday, Zaccheus' job was going exceptionally well; his raise proved that. Most important, he genuinely liked what he was doing. Working for the Sextons was by no means a piece of cake, but somehow he alone of all their employees was left unharassed. There was a popular saying in Quebeck: 'The Sextons get richer while the rest of us get poorer,' but that didn't apply to the Hales. And although Zaccheus worked for Tex and spent a lot of his time out at the ranch, he rarely saw Jenny. They made a point of avoiding each other. Those unavoidable times when their paths did cross, she would pointedly ignore him, sailing past like a duchess, her head held high, as if he did not count, and that suited him just fine.
Yes, other than Auntie's death, which had come as a staggering blow to all of them, things were on a wonderfully even keel. Sometimes Elizabeth-Anne feared that things seemed to be going almost too smoothly.
Life was good, abundant.
There were the two houses they had inherited from Auntie, and considerable savings too. No fortune, but no piddling amount either; added to their own savings, it came to a tidy nest egg. They were far from rich, but they were comfortably well-off and had financial security. They were unburdened by bills. Nor was there need to worry about bad times on the horizon. There was plenty saved up to tide them over these, should they, God forbid, ever visit. Nor did they need to pay rent anymore, although the cottage had been inexpensive by any standard. They had moved into Elender's apartment above the café
Every passing year was better than the previous.
And then the highway was planned. It would stretch northward from Brownsville to Laredo, bypassing Quebeck two miles out across the fields, and connect with another new highway swung from Laredo over to Corpus Christi on the gulf.
Nothing sates the hungry wheels of commerce more fully than routes of transportation, and the excitement in Quebec was intoxicating. Even the old diehards who had originally been opposed to a new highway had become converts. Every day, it seemed, someone in Quebeck was buying a new car. Those who owned horses and buggies, like Elizabeth-Anne and Zaccheus, were fast becoming the minority—soon horse- drawn transportation would disappear forever. The highways would see to that.
15
Zaccheus looked around from his high perch atop the buggy seat. The early evening sunset was spectacular, striating the sky in the west with the deep rich tones of oranges, yellows, and reds and streaking the wisps of high cirrus clouds above him with the paler, more delicate pastel shades of lavenders and pinks. For once, he was immune to the splendors of
the setting sun.
He sat looking around with little interest. The field at which Elizabeth-Anne had asked him to stop the buggy was large and uninspiring. Scrub brush and waist-high weeds inhabited it, but little else, Zaccheus thought grimly, except bugs and, possibly, snakes.
'Well?' Elizabeth-Anne asked with the subdued excitement of a schoolgirl showing off.
'Well, what?' he demanded. He turned slowly to face her. 'I was under the impression we were going to a special place,' he said. 'But this!' He indicated the insignificance of the field with an indifferent gesture and barked a short laugh. 'Elizabeth-Anne, it's nothing but a field badly in need of irrigation!'
'No, Zaccheus,' she said with such solemn intensity that he dared say no more. 'It's not just another field. This is a special field.' She got down off the buggy and stood there in the weeds, hands on her hips, and looked up at him. He was sitting stiffly erect, his face creased in a frown of confusion.
'Close your eyes,' she said suddenly.
'What?' He stared down at her to see if she was serious.
'Just close them, Zaccheus. Please?'
'Oh, all right.' He smiled indulgently and did as he was told. 'Well?' he asked.
'Now, just imagine in your mind everything I'm about to describe to you.'
He vented a sigh and nodded.
'In front of you, about fifteen yards away, is the new asphalt highway. Wide and sleek, with lots and lots of cars zooming past.' She paused. 'Can you hear them?'
He frowned and shook his head. 'No, I can't honestly say I do.'
She made an impatient sound and raised her eyes heavenward. 'Well, imagine you're hearing them, then.' She waited a moment. 'Now, do you hear them?'
He nodded to humor her. 'May I open my eyes now?'
'Not yet. Now, the cars are whisking back and forth in both directions. But not only cars. There are trucks and buses too.' She had turned around; he could tell that from the way her voice changed. 'Can you see them?'
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