by Sandra Brown
"I won't set foot in this place until it's been cleaned up. I mean clean."
"Yes, ma'am." He clicked his heels together.
"And the calendar has to go."
He looked toward the closet door and his face drooped in comic disappointment. "Aw, shoot! I was really coming to like her." He shrugged. "Ah, well. Anything else?"
Jenny was thinking how absolutely adorable he was, but her mind snapped back to the problem at hand. "Yes. How am I going to tell your parents?"
"Don't give them a choice." He stuck out his hand. "Is that it? Do we have a deal?"
"Deal." She gave him her hand, but instead of shaking it, he drew it up and placed it on his chest.
"A handshake is no way to finalize a deal with a gorgeous woman."
Before she could react, he bent his head down and slanted his mouth over hers. The hand now pressing hers to his chest went to her waist, where it settled lightly. His thumb gently stroked her lowest rib.
The kiss was long. His lips were open over hers, but he didn't use his tongue. He only kept her held in breathless suspension, teasing her with the possibility that at any moment he might send it delving into her mouth. But he didn't. And when he raised his head, he merely smiled.
Later, after he had deposited her back at the grocery store and she had finished her shopping, she wondered why she hadn't done something, anything, to stop the kiss. Why hadn't she slapped his face, or stamped her foot, or even laughed? Why, when he finally lifted his mouth off hers, had she just gazed up at him with limpid eyes and throbbing dewy lips, a pounding pulse, and melting thighs?
The only answer she could provide was that her limbs had felt leaden, deliciously so. And weak with pleasure. She couldn't have raised a finger to protect herself from Cage's kiss if she had wanted to. And she really hadn't wanted to.
The Hendrens didn't take the news of her job too well. Sarah dropped her fork on her dinner plate when Jenny made her announcement. "I start Monday."
"You're going to work—"
"For Cage?" Bob finished for his wife.
"Yes. If you have any projects for me to do before then, let me know."
She left the kitchen before their dumbfoundedness wore off. As Cage had advised her to do, she hadn't given them a choice in the matter.
* * *
One minute before nine o'clock the following Monday morning, Jenny entered the office. The door had been left unlocked. For a moment, she thought she had gone in the wrong door. The office hadn't only been cleaned, it had been transformed.
The gunmetal-gray walls were now painted a soothing cream. The hideous sofa had been replaced by two leather armchairs in a rich shade of chocolate brown. A walnut table was tucked between them.
The linoleum tile floor had been covered with parquet wood. An area rug of ethnic origin took up the center of the floor. Where the metal shelves had been, there was now a wall of wood shelves and cabinets. All the components had been tastefully arranged to maximize space so that everything was stacked neatly.
The surface of the desk now dominating the room was as glistening as an ice rink. Behind it was a leather chair of thronelike proportions. On the desk's shiny top was a bouquet of fresh flowers, still beaded with moisture from the florist's refrigerator.
"The flowers are for you."
Jenny spun around to see Cage standing just inside the closet. The door was open. "How did you do it?" she asked, aghast.
"With my checkbook," he said wryly. "That works better than magic wands these days. Do you like it?"
"Yes, but…" Jenny was suddenly contrite. "I shouldn't have criticized. You've gone to tremendous expense."
"Hey, don't go soft on me. You spurred me on to do something I should have done years ago. I've been entertaining clients at the drugstore's soda fountain because I was ashamed of this 'trash heap,' as someone we all know and love called it." He grinned when her cheeks flushed. "By the way, I have a selection of calendars for you to choose from."
He held up the first one and she gasped softly. "Buns of the Month," Cage said solemnly, trying hard not to smile. The muscular model, posed lying on his stomach, was wearing a jock strap, a football helmet, and a wicked grin. "This is Mr. October. Football season, you understand. Would you like to see the other months?" he asked guilelessly, thumbing through the calendar.
"That will be sufficient," Jenny said hoarsely. "What else do you have?"
Cage set that calendar aside and picked up another. "A Hunk a Day. No heads, just bodies." An oiled chest, bulging biceps, and a washboard stomach graced the picture he held up. Jenny made a squeamish face and shook her head. "Or," Cage said, spreading open the third choice, "Ansel Adams."
"Hang the Ansel Adams." Cage looked pleased and turned to do her bidding. "But leave the others in the closet," Jenny added mischievously. He gave her his most crestfallen expression, then they both burst out laughing.
"Cage, the office is beautiful, really. I love it."
"Good. I want you to be comfortable here."
"Thank you for the flowers," she said, moving behind the desk and tentatively sitting down in the leather chair.
"This is a special occasion."
Their eyes met and locked for a moment before he showed her where his business stationery was stored and how to operate the new typewriter. "You can start on these letters," he said, passing her a folder. "I've roughed them out in longhand, which I hope you can read. Gertie managed to."
"The friend with the crooked S?" Jenny asked innocently.
He yanked on a strand of her hair. "Right." He left shortly thereafter, saying he was going out to the Parsons ranch.
"How does it look?"
"The samples look great. If we don't strike oil, I'm an archangel." He put on his sunglasses and reached for the doorknob. "'Bye."
"'Bye."
He paused, staring at her for a long moment. "Goda'mighty, you look good sitting there."
Then he was gone.
* * *
He came back a few minutes before noon, carrying a large sack. "Lunchtime!" he yelled as he barged through the door. Jenny waved her hand, motioning for him to be quiet. She was on the telephone, jotting down notes as the other party talked. "Yes, I have it and I'll give the information to Mr. Hendren when he comes in. Thank you." She hung up and proudly passed him the message.
He read it and thumped the paper. "Terrific. I've been waiting for permission to have a look-see at this property. You've brought me luck." He grinned and set the sack on the edge of the desk. "And I've brought you lunch."
"Can I expect this kind of treatment every day?" She stood up to peer into the sack.
"Absolutely not. But as I said earlier, today is a special occasion."
"I really should go home and check on Sarah and Bob."
"They'll be fine. Call them later if you must."
His lighthearted mood was infectious and she caught it as they unloaded the lunch he had carried out from the town's only delicatessen. "To top it all off…" He disappeared into the closet and came back carrying a bottle of champagne. "Ta-da!"
"Where'd you get that?"
"I've had it cooling in the refrigerator."
"There's a refrigerator in there?"
"A tiny one. Haven't you looked?"
"No. I've been busy." She pointed toward the stack of letters that were waiting for his signature.
"Then you deserve a glass of champagne," he said, working the cork free. The effervescent wine popped but didn't foam over. Cage poured her a paper cup full.
She took it, too overwhelmed not to. "I really shouldn't, Cage."
"How come?"
"You might find this hard to believe, but we don't usually serve champagne with lunch at the parsonage," she said sarcastically. "I'm not used to it."
"Good. Maybe you'll get drunk, strip off all your clothes, and dance naked on top of the desk."
He passed a speculative glance down her body that clearly intimated he wondered
what such a sight would be like. Embarrassed, she watched him pour himself a cup of champagne. "Do you do this sort of thing often?"
"Drink champagne in the middle of the day? No."
"Then how do you know you won't get drunk, strip off all your clothes, and dance naked on top of the desk?"
He touched the rim of her cup with his. "Because, my Jenny," he whispered roughly, "if we were both naked on top of the desk, we wouldn't be dancing."
Her stomach did a backward somersault. She managed to tear her eyes away from the hypnotizing power of his and noticed that her hand was trembling.
"Take a sip," Cage urged in that same husky voice. Grateful for something to do, she did. The champagne was cold and biting on her tongue. "Like it?"
"Yes." She took another sip.
He moved his head closer until they were almost nose to nose. His eyes fairly smoldered. "How do you feel about…"
"About what?"
"Hot pastrami?"
Hot pastrami had never tasted so delicious. In fact, it was one of the most fabulous meals Jenny had ever eaten. As they ate he told her more about his business and was pleased with her intelligent and intuitive questions.
He couldn't coax her into drinking more than half the paper cup of champagne. When they were finished, he carefully picked up the empty cartons and put them back in the sack. "I wouldn't dare litter up your office," he said with a crooked smile.
For a long time after he left she couldn't stop thinking about both of them being naked. What had he meant when he'd said they wouldn't be dancing? But she knew what he'd meat.
And she couldn't stop thinking about that either.
* * *
The days fell into some sort of pattern, though life with Cage was always spontaneous and unplanned. It was like traveling down a mysterious jungle river. One never knew what unexpected surprise would be waiting around the next bend.
He left her small presents that shouldn't have been significant, but to someone who had never been courted, they were very much so.
A small cake with a single candle was waiting on her desk the morning of her first week's anniversary of employment. She found a red rose lying beside the coffeemaker another time. One morning when she opened the door she almost screamed. A giant teddy bear was grinning at her from her chair behind the desk.
She knew the town was buzzing with gossip about them. The tellers at the bank were shocked when she began to handle Cage's business banking. Now they were accustomed to seeing her come in on his behalf. But she could see them clustering together when she left.
The postmaster, who she had known for years, was still friendly, but now that she was handling Cage's mail instead of the church's, he looked at her in a way that made her skin crawl.
And Cage had begun attending church regularly, which really had the town gossips aflutter.
She loved the challenge of the new job and by the second week was handling every situation like a pro.
"Hendren Enterprises."
"Jenny, darlin', get your celebrating shoes on," Cage said, laughing.
Jenny could gear the racket in the background. "The well came in?" she squealed.
"The well came in!" he shouted. The roughnecks around him were already breaking out the coolers full of Coors. "Sweetheart, I'm going to buy you the biggest chicken fried steak lunch we can find. I'll be there in an hour."
"I have an errand to run. Why don't I just meet you somewhere?"
"All right. The Wagon Wheel at twelve-thirty?"
She agreed on the time and place.
But at twelve-thirty Jenny was wandering aimlessly down the main street of town, her brain registering nothing. Entranced, she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and sightlessly gazed at the garish display of goods in the variety store's front window.
Cage drove by, spotted her, called out her name, and honked. She didn't turn around. She didn't even hear him.
He executed an illegal U-turn and whipped his pickup, which he had driven out to the drilling sight, into the only available parking space and hopped out onto the sidewalk. He jogged toward her. His boots and the hems of his jeans were caked with mud.
"Jenny," he said breathlessly, "you're going in the wrong direction. Didn't we say the Wagon Wheel?"
His broad smile collapsed when she turned and gazed up at him with vacuous eyes. Instantly alarmed, he caught her upper arm and shook her slightly. "Jenny, what's wrong?"
"Cage?" she whispered faintly. She blinked her eyes and looked around her as though only then realizing where she was. "Oh, Cage."
"God, don't scare me like that," he said, worry wrinkling his brow. "What's happened? What's the matter? Are you sick?"
She shook her head and lowered her eyes. "No. But I don't feel like going to lunch. I'm sorry. I'm very happy about the well, but I don't feel like—"
"Will you stop with all that apology crap. To hell with lunch. Tell me what's happened to you." She reeled against him as though she were going to faint. He caught her against his chest, cursing and feeling inept and stupid. "Come on, love. Let's go into the drugstore. I'll get you a Coke."
They walked half a block to the drugstore, where there was a soda fountain in back. At least Cage walked. Jenny stumbled along with his support. She virtually fell into the green vinyl booth as he called out, "Two Cokes, please, Hazel," to the waitress behind the counter.
Cage didn't take his eyes off Jenny, but she didn't look at him. She stared down at her hands where they were locked together on the Formica tabletop. Hazel set the icy fountain drinks on the table. "How're things, Cage?"
"Fine," he muttered absently.
Hazel shrugged and ambled back to the cash register. Folks were saying that Cage Hendren had undergone a change since his brother had gotten killed. They said he'd been hanging around the Fletcher girl like a fly around a jar of honey. Well, that just went to show that some gossip was true. Hazel could always count on Cage for a good half hour of bawdy joking. Today he was so taken with Jenny Fletcher, he was staring at her like she might go up in a puff of smoke if he took his eyes off her.
"Jenny, drink your Coke," Cage said, sliding it closer to her. "You're as pale as a ghost." Obediently she sipped through the straw. "Now tell me what's wrong."
Her head remained bowed for what seemed like hours to him. He was just about ready to lose control when she finally raised it.
Her eyes were glossy with tears. Two escaped simultaneously and rolled down her cheeks. "Cage," she whispered hoarsely, pausing to draw in a shuddering breath, "I'm pregnant."
* * *
Chapter 7
«^»
Cage felt like he had just been punched in the gut. His tawny eyes went blank. Except for swallowing hard, he remained perfectly still, his eyes trained on Jenny's face.
"Pregnant?"
She nodded. "I just came from the doctor's office. I'm going to have a baby."
He swiped his damp palms over his thighs. "You didn't know?"
"No."
"Aren't there signs?"
"I guess so."
"Hadn't you missed periods?"
Her cheeks were stained with hot color and she ducked her head. "Yes, but I thought that was because of Hal's death and all the turmoil afterward. I just never thought… Oh, I don't know," she said, wearily resting her forehead on the heel of her hand. "Cage, what am I going to do?"
Do? She would leave with him that very minute and get married, that's what. They were going to have a baby! Sonofagun! A baby!
Joy pumped through Cage's body. He wanted to stand up and whoop, to rush out in the streets, stop traffic, and tell everybody that he was going to be a daddy.
But he saw Jenny's dejected posture, heard her quiet weeping, and knew that he couldn't let his true reaction show. She thought the baby was Hal's. Cage couldn't acknowledge that it was his because she would despise him, just when she was coming to trust him.
Was this to be his punishment for all the sins he had
tallied up beside his name? He had always taken precautions to see that none of the wild oats he sewed produced an unwanted child. He had made certain every woman he slept with knew of those precautions so she couldn't frame him later for an accident that wasn't his.
But now, when he wanted to claim his paternity, he couldn't. He couldn't be granted the privilege of acknowledging the child he had created with the woman he loved, had always loved.
God played dirty pool.
Tell her, tell her now, a voice deep inside him whispered.
He wanted to. Lord, how he wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her that she had no reason to cry. He wanted to proclaim that he loved her and his child—yes, his child—and promise her that for as long as he lived he would take care of both of them. Selfishly that was what he wanted to do.
But he couldn't. Learning she was pregnant had been devastating enough for her. He couldn't bring her more misery by telling her that the father of the child wasn't who she thought he was.
For now, he had to be satisfied with being her friend.
"Crying won't help, Jenny." He passed her a handkerchief. She blotted her eyes and glanced around self-consciously. They had the small coffee shop to themselves. Hazel was engrossed in a movie star magazine.
"Everyone will think I'm trash. And Hal…" She bowed her head at the thought of what people would think of the young minister now.
"No one will think Jenny Fletcher is trash." Cage twirled the straw in his Coke, already feeling guilty for the way he was about to manipulate her. He cleared his throat. "I didn't know you and Hal had that kind of relationship."
"We didn't." She spoke so softly he had to lean across the table in order to hear her. "Not until the night before he left."
She raised her head to find him studying her intently. His unwavering attention made her even more uncomfortable about the subject they were discussing, and when she began speaking again, her voice faltered. "Remember you told me I should try to stop him from going? Well, I tried," she said with a shaky little laugh. "But it didn't work."
"What happened?" Cage was finding it hard to speak past the lump in his throat. But he wanted to know what she felt about that night. It wasn't fair to goad her into talking about it like this, but he had to know.