Part of the Bargain

by Linda Lael Miller

  “That’s terrific,” observed a gentle voice.

  Libby looked up quickly, surprised that she hadn’t heard Jess get into the car, hadn’t sensed his presence somehow. Because she couldn’t speak just yet, she bit her lower lip and nodded an acknowledgment of the compliment.

  “Could I take a closer look? Please?”

  Libby extended the notebook and it was a gesture of trust, for these sketches were different from the panels for her comic strip. They were large pieces of her soul.

  Jess was pensive as he examined the portraits of himself, Cathy, Ken. But the study of Jonathan was clearly his favorite, and he returned to it at intervals, taking in each line, each bit of shading, each unspoken cry of grief.

  Finally, with a tenderness that made Libby love him even more than she had before, Jess handed the sketchbook back to her. “You are remarkably talented,” he said, and then he had the good grace to look away while Libby recomposed herself.

  “D-did you find a car you like?” she asked finally.

  Jess smiled at her. “Actually, yes. That’s why I came back—to get you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Well, I don’t want to buy the thing without your checking it out first. Suppose you hated it?”

  It amazed Libby that such a thing mattered to him. She set the sketchbook carefully in the backseat and opened her car door to get out. “Lead on,” she said, and the clean spring breeze braced her as it touched her face.

  The vehicle in question was neither car nor truck, but a Land Rover. It was perfectly suited to the kind of life Jess led, and Libby approved of it with enthusiasm.

  The deal was made, much to the relief of a salesman they had been plaguing, on and off, since the day before.

  After some discussion, it was decided that they would keep the rental car until after the wedding, in case Libby needed it. Over a luncheon of steak and salad, which did much to settle her shaky nerves, Jess suggested that they start shopping all over again, for a second car.

  Practical as it was, the thought exhausted Libby.

  “You’ll need transportation,” Jess argued.

  “I don’t think I could face all those plaid sport jackets and test drives again,” Libby replied with a sigh.

  Jess laughed. “But you would like to have a car, wouldn’t you?”

  Libby shrugged. In New York, she had depended on taxis for transportation, but the ranch was different, of course. “I suppose.”

  “Aren’t you choosy about the make, model—all that?”

  “Wheels are wheels,” she answered with another shrug.

  “Hmmmm,” Jess said speculatively, and then the subject was changed. “What about our honeymoon? Any place in particular you’d like to go?”

  “Your couch,” Libby said, shocked at her own audacity.

  Again Jess laughed. “That is patently unimaginative.”

  “Hardly, considering the things we did there,” Libby replied, immediately lifting a hand to her mouth. What was wrong with her? Why was she suddenly spouting these outlandish remarks?

  Jess bent forward, conjured up a comical leer. “I wish we were on the ranch,” he said in a low voice. “I’d take you somewhere private and make violent love to you.”

  Libby felt a familiar heat simmering inside her, melting through her pelvis. “Jess.”

  He drew some bills from his wallet, tossed them onto the table. “Let’s get out of here while I can still walk,” he muttered.

  Libby laughed. “I think it’s a good thing we’re driving separate cars today,” she teased, though secretly she was just as anxious for privacy as Jess was.

  He groaned. “One more word, lady, and I’ll spread you out on this table.”

  Libby’s heart thudded at the bold suggestion and pumped color over her breasts and into her face. She tried to look indignant, but the fact was that she had been aroused by the remark and Jess knew it—his grin was proof of that.

  As they left the restaurant, he bent close to her and described the fantasy in vivid detail, sparing nothing. And later, on the table in the condo’s kitchen, he turned it into a wildly satisfying reality.

  That afternoon, Libby took another nap. Due to the episode just past, her dreams were deliciously erotic.

  As he had before, Jess awakened her with strategic kisses. “Hi,” he said when she opened her eyes.

  She touched his hair, noted that he was wearing his brown leather jacket. “You’ve been out.” She yawned.

  Jess kissed the tip of her nose. “I have indeed. Bought you a present or two, as a matter of fact.”

  The glee in Jess’s eyes made Libby’s heart twist in a spasm of tenderness; whatever he’d purchased, he was very pleased with. She slipped languid arms around his neck. “I like presents,” she said.

  Jess drew back, tugged her camisole down so that her breasts were bared to him. Almost idly he kissed each dusty-rose peak and then covered them again. “Sorry,” he muttered, his mouth a fraction of an inch from hers. “I couldn’t resist.”

  That strange, magical heat was surging from Libby’s just-greeted breasts to her middle, down into her thighs and even her knees. She felt as though every muscle and bone in her body had melted. “You m-mentioned presents?”

  He chuckled, kissed her softly, groaned under his breath. “I was momentarily distracted. Get out of bed, princess. Said presents await.”

  “Can’t you just…bring them here?”

  “Hardly.” Jess withdrew from the bed to stand at its side and wrench back the covers. His green eyes smoldered as he took in the sleep-pinkened glow of her curves, and he bent to swat her satin-covered backside. “Get up,” he repeated.

  Libby obeyed, curious about the gifts but disappointed that Jess hadn’t joined her in the bed, too. She found a floaty cotton caftan and slipped it on.

  Jess looked at her, made a low growling sound in his throat, and caught her hand in his. “Come on, before I give in to my baser instincts,” he said, pulling her down the stairs.

  Libby looked around curiously as he dragged her across the living room but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  Jess opened the front door, pulled her outside. There, beside his maroon Land Rover, sat a sleek yellow Corvette with a huge rosette of silver ribbon affixed to its windshield.

  Libby gaped at the car, her eyes wide.

  “Like it?” Jess asked softly, his mouth close to her ear.

  “Like it?” Libby bounded toward the car, heedless of her bare feet. “I love it!”

  Jess followed, opened the door on the driver’s side so that Libby could slide behind the wheel. When she did that, she got a second surprise. Taped to the gearshift knob was a ring of white gold, and the diamond setting formed the Circle Bar B brand.

  “I’ll hog-tie you later,” Jess said.

  Libby’s hand trembled as she reached for the ring; it blurred and shifted before her eyes as she looked at it. “Oh, Jess.”

  “Listen, if you hate it…”

  Libby ripped away the strip of tape, slid the ring onto her finger. “Hate it? Sacrilege! It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Does it fit?”

  The ring was a little loose, but Libby wasn’t ready to part with it, not even to let a jeweler size it. “No,” she said, overwhelmed, “but I don’t care.”

  Gently Jess lifted her chin with his hand, bent to sample her mouth with his. Beneath the hastily donned caftan and her camisole, Libby’s nipples hardened in pert response.

  “There’s only one drawback to this car,” Jess breathed, his lips teasing Libby’s, shaping them. “It would be impossible to make love in it.”

  Libby laughed and pretended to shove him. “Scoundrel!”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he replied hoarsely, drawing Libby out of the beautiful car and back inside the house.

  There she gravitated toward the front windows, where she could alternately admire her new car and watch the late-afternoon sun catch in the very s
pecial ring on her finger. Standing behind her, Jess wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close, bending to nip at her earlobe.

  “Thank you, Jess,” Libby said.

  He laughed, and his breath moved in Libby’s hair and sent warm tingles through her body. “No need for thanks. I’ll nibble on your ears anytime.”

  “You know what I meant!”

  His hands had risen to close over her breasts, fully possessing them. “What? What did you mean?” he teased in a throaty whisper.

  Libby could barely breathe. “The car…the ring…”

  Letting his hands slip from her breasts to her elbows, Jess ushered Libby over to face the mirror above the fireplace. As she watched his reflection in wonder, he undid the caftan’s few buttons and slid it slowly down over her shoulders. Then he drew the camisole up over her head and tossed it away.

  Libby saw a pink glow rise over her breasts to shine in her face, saw the passion sparking in her dark blue eyes, saw Jess’s hands brush upward over her rib cage toward her breasts. The novelty of watching her own reactions to the sensations he was stirring inside her was erotic.

  She groaned as she saw—and felt—masculine fingers rise to her waiting nipples and pluck then gently to attention.

  “See?” Jess whispered at her ear. “See how beautiful you are, Libby? Especially when I’m loving you.”

  Libby had never thought of herself as beautiful, but now, looking at her image in the mirror, seeing how passion darkened her eyes to indigo and painted her cheeks with its own special apricot shade, she felt ravishing.

  She tilted her head back against the hard breadth of Jess’s shoulder, moaned as he softly plundered her nipples.

  He spoke with a gruff, choked sort of sternness. “Don’t close your eyes, Libby. Watch. You’re beautiful—so beautiful—and I want you to know it.”

  It was hard for Libby not to close her eyes and give herself up to the incredible sensations that were raging through her, but she managed it even as Jess came from behind her to bend his head and take suckle at one breast.

  Watching him do this, watching the heightened color in her own face, gave a new intensity to the searing needs that were like storm winds within Libby. Her eyes were fires of ink-blue, and there was a proud, even regal lift to her chin as she watched herself pleasing the man she loved.

  Jess drank deeply of one breast, turned to the other. It was an earthy communion between one man and one woman, each one giving and taking.

  Presently Jess’s mouth slid down over Libby’s slightly damp stomach, and then he was kneeling, no longer visible in the magic mirror. “Don’t close your eyes,” he repeated, and Libby felt her satiny panties sliding slowly down over her hips, her knees, her ankles.

  The wide-eyed sprite in the mirror gasped, and Libby was forced to brace herself with both hands against the mantelpiece, just to keep from falling. Her breathing quickened to a rasp as Jess ran skilled hands over her bare bottom, her thighs, the backs of her knees. He heightened her pleasure by telling her precisely what he meant to do.

  And then he did it.

  Libby’s release was a maelstrom of soft sobs that finally melded together into one lusty cry of pleasure. Jess was right, she thought, in the midst of all this and during the silvery descent that followed: she was beautiful.

  Standing again, Jess lifted Libby up into his arms. Still feeling like some wanton Gypsy princess, she let her head fall back and gloried in the liberties his mouth took with the breasts that were thrust into easy reach.

  Libby was conscious of an otherworldly floating sensation as she and Jess glided downward, together, to the floor.

  Rain pattered and danced on the glass ceiling above the bed, a dismal heralding of what promised to be the happiest day of Libby Kincaid’s life.

  Jess slept beside her, beautifully naked, his breathing deep and even. If he hadn’t actually spoken of his love, he had shown it in a dozen ways. So why did the pit of Libby’s stomach jiggle, as though something awful was about to happen?

  The insistent ringing of the doorbell brought Jess up from his stomach, push-up style, grumbling. His dark hair hopelessly rumpled, his eyes glazed, he stumbled around the bedroom until he found his robe and managed to struggle into it.

  Libby laughed at him as he started down the stairs. “So much for being happy in the mornings, Barlowe,” she taunted.

  His answer was a terse word that Libby couldn’t quite make out.

  She heard the door open downstairs, heard Senator Barlowe’s deep laugh and exuberant greeting. The sounds eased the feeling of dread that had plagued Libby earlier, and she got out of bed and hurried to the bathroom for a shower.

  Periodically, as Libby shampooed her hair and washed, she laughed. Having his father arrive unexpectedly from Washington, probably with Ken and Cathy soon to follow, would certainly throw cold water on any plans the groom might have had for prenuptial frolicking.

  When Libby went downstairs, her hair blown dry, her makeup in place, she was delighted to see that Cathy was with the senator. They were both, in fact, seated comfortably on the couch, drinking coffee.

  “Where’s Dad?” Libby asked when hugs and kisses had been exchanged.

  Cleave Barlowe, with his elegant, old-fashioned manners, waited for Libby to sit down before returning to his own seat near Cathy. “He’ll be here in time for the ceremony,” he said. “When we left the ranch, he was heading out with that bear patrol of his.”

  Libby frowned and fussed with her crisp pink sundress, feeling uneasy again. Jess had gone upstairs, and she could hear the water running in the shower. “Bear patrol?”

  “We’ve lost a few calves to a rogue grizzly,” Cleave said easily, as though such a thing were an everyday occurrence. “Ken and half a dozen of his best men have been tracking him, but they haven’t had any luck so far.”

  Cathy, sitting at her father-in-law’s elbow, seemed to sense her cousin’s apprehension and signed that she wanted a better look at Libby’s ring.

  The tactic worked, but as Libby offered her hand, she at last looked into Cathy’s face and saw the ravages of her marital problems. There were dark smudges under the green eyes, and a hollow ache pulsed inside them.

  Libby reprimanded herself for being so caught up in her own tumultuous romance with Jess as to forget that during his visit the day before, Stacey had said he’d left Cathy. It shamed Libby that she hadn’t thought more about her cousin, made it a point to find out how she was.

  “Are you all right?” she signed, knowing that Cathy was always more comfortable with this form of communication than with lip reading.

  Cathy’s responding smile was real, if wan. She nodded and with mischievous interest assessed the ring Jess had had specially designed.

  Cleave demanded a look at this piece of jewelry that was causing such an “all-fired” stir and laughed with appreciation when he saw his own brand in the setting.

  Cathy lifted her hands. “I want to see your dress.”

  After Jess had come downstairs, dressed in jeans and the scandalous T-shirt Libby had given him, the two women went up to look at the new burgundy dress.

  The haunted look was back in Cathy’s eyes as she approved the garment. “I can hardly believe you’re marrying Jess,” she said in the halting, hesitant voice she would allow only Libby to hear.

  Libby sat down on the rumpled bed beside her cousin. “That should settle any doubts you might have had about my relationship with Stacey,” she said gently.

  Cathy’s pain was a visible spasm in her face. “He’s living at the main house now,” she confessed. “Libby, Stacey says he wants a divorce.”

  Libby’s anger with Stacey was equal only to her sympathy for his wife. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean any of the things he’s been saying, Cathy. If only you would talk to him…”

  The emerald eyes flashed. “So Stacey could laugh at me, Libby? No, thanks!”

  Libby drew a deep breath. “I can’t help thinking that this problem s
tems from a lack of communication and trust,” she persisted, careful to face toward her cousin. “Stacey loves you. I know he does.”

  “How can you be so sure?” whispered Cathy. “How, Libby? Marriages end every day of the week.”

  “No one knows that better than I do. But some things are a matter of instinct, and mine tells me that Stacey is doing this to make you notice him, Cathy. And maybe because you won’t risk having a baby.”

  “Having a baby would be pretty stupid, wouldn’t it? Even if I wanted to take the risk, as you call it. After all, my husband moved out of our house!”

  “I’m not saying that you should rush back to the ranch and get yourself pregnant, Cathy. But couldn’t you just talk to Stacey, the way you talk to me?”

  “I told you— I’d be embarrassed!”

  “Embarrassed! You are married to the man, Cathy—you share his bed! How can you be embarrassed to let him hear your voice?”

  Cathy knotted her fingers together in her lap and lowered her head. From downstairs Libby could hear Jess and the senator talking quietly about the vote Cleave had cast before coming back to Montana for the wedding.

  Finally Cathy looked up again. “I couldn’t talk to anyone but you, Libby. I don’t even talk to Jess or Ken.”

  “That’s your own fault,” Libby said, still angry. “Have you kept your silence all this time—all during the years I’ve been away?”

  Cathy shook her head. “I ride up into the foothills sometimes and talk to the wind and the trees, for practice. Do you think that’s silly?”

  “No, and stop being so afraid that someone is going to think you’re silly, dammit! So what if they do? What do you suppose people thought about me when I stayed with a man who had girlfriends?”

  Cathy’s mouth fell open. “Girlfriends?”

  “Yes,” snapped Libby, stung by the memory. “And don’t tell my dad. He’d faint.”

  “I doubt it,” replied Cathy. “But it must have hurt terribly. I’m so sorry, Libby.”

  “And I’m sorry if I was harsh with you,” Libby answered. “I just want you to be happy, Cathy—that’s all. Will you promise me that you’ll talk to Stacey? Please?”