Part of the Bargain

by Linda Lael Miller

  “Wrong,” Jess bit out. “We found more cattle.”

  “Calves?”

  “A bull and two heifers,” Jess answered. “And the hell of it is, he didn’t even kill them to eat. He just ripped them apart.”

  Libby shivered. “He must be enormous!”

  “The men that were with Stacey and Ken said he stood over eight feet,” Jess replied, and his green eyes moved wearily over Libby’s face. “I don’t suppose I need to say this, but I will. I don’t like having you here, not now. For God’s sake, don’t go wandering off by yourself—not even to walk down to the mailboxes. The same goes for Cathy.”

  It seemed ludicrous that one beast could restrict the normal activities of human beings—in fact, the bear didn’t seem real to Libby, even after what had happened to Ken. Instead, it was as though Jess was telling one of the delicious, scary stories he’d loved to terrify Libby with when they were children.

  “That means, little one,” he went on sternly, “that you don’t go out to the barn and you don’t go over to Ken’s to sit and moon by that pond. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Too clear,” snapped Libby, following him as he carried the rifle through the kitchen, down a long hallway and into the massive billiard room where the gun cabinets were.

  Jess locked the weapon away and turned to his wife. “I’m a little bit glad you’re here,” he confessed with a weary grin.

  “Even tough cowboys need a little spoiling now and then,” she replied, “so hie thyself to an upstairs bathroom, husband of mine, and get yourself a shower. I’ll bring dinner to your room.”

  “And how do you know where my room is, Mrs. Barlowe?”

  Libby colored a little. “I used to help Marion Bradshaw with the cleaning sometimes, remember?”

  “I remember. I used to watch you bending over to tuck in sheets and smooth pillows and think what a great rear end you had.”

  She arched one eyebrow. “Had?”

  Jess caught her bottom in strong hands, pressed her close to him. “Have,” he clarified.

  “Go take your shower!” Libby huffed, suddenly conscious of all the cowboys that would be gathering in the house for supper that night.

  “Join me?” drawled Jess, persistent to the end.

  “Absolutely not. You’re exhausted.” Libby broke away, headed toward the kitchen.

  “Not that exhausted,” Jess called after her.

  Libby did not respond, but as she went in to prepare a dinner tray for her husband, she was smiling.

  Minutes later, entering Jess’s boyhood bedroom, she set the tray down on a long table under a line of windows. The door of the adjoining bathroom was open and steam billowed out like the mist in a spooky movie.

  Presently Libby heard the shower shut off, the rustling sound of a towel being pulled from a rack. She sat down on the edge of Jess’s bed and then bounded up again.

  “Libby?”

  She went cautiously to the doorway, looked in. Jess was peering into a steamy mirror, trying to shave. “Your dinner is getting cold,” she said.

  After flinging one devilish look at his wife, Jess grabbed the towel that had been wrapped around his hips and calmly used it to wipe the mirror. “I’ll hurry,” he replied.

  Libby swallowed hard, as stunned by the splendor of his naked, muscle-corded frame as she had been on that first mantelpiece night when they’d made love in the bedroom at Jess’s house, the fevered motions of their bodies metered by the raging elements outside.

  Jess finished shaving, rinsed his face, turned toward Libby like a proud savage. She could not look away, even though she wanted to. Her eyes were fixed on the rising, swelling shaft of his manhood.

  Jess laughed. “I used to fantasize about this.”

  “What?” Libby croaked, her throat tight.

  “Bringing the foreman’s pretty daughter up here and having my way with her.”

  Libby’s eyes were, at last, freed, and they shot upward to his face. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought you liked Cathy then.”

  He nodded. “I did. But even before she married Stacey, I thought of her as a sister.”

  “And what, pray tell, did you think of me as?”

  “A hellion. But I wanted to be your lover, all the same. Since I didn’t dare, I settled for making your life miserable.”

  “How very chivalrous of you!”

  Jess was walking toward her now, holding her with the scorching assessment of those jade-green eyes even before his hands touched her. “Teenage boys are not chivalrous, Libby.”

  Libby closed her eyes as he reached her, drew her close. “Neither are men,” she managed to say.

  Her blouse was coming untucked from her jeans, rising until she felt the steamy air on her stomach and back. Finally it was bunched under her arms and Jess was tracing a brazen finger over the lines of her scanty lace bra. Beneath the fabric, her nipples sprang into full bloom, coy flowers offering their nectar.

  “Y-your dinner,” she reminded Jess, floating on the sensations he was stirring within her, too bedazzled even to open her eyes.

  The bra slipped down, just on one side, freeing a hard-peaked, eager breast. “Yes,” Jess breathed evilly, “my dinner.”

  “Not that. I mean—”

  His mouth closed over the delicate morsel, drawing at it softly. With a pleased and somewhat triumphant chuckle, Jess drew back from the tender treat and Libby’s eyes flew open as he began removing her blouse and then her bra, leaving her jeans as they were.

  He led her slowly to the bed, but instead of laying her down there, as she had expected, Jess stretched out on his back and positioned her so that she was sitting up, astraddle of his hips.

  Gripping her waist, he pulled her forward and lifted, so that her breasts were suspended within easy reach of his mouth.

  “The age-old quandary,” he breathed.

  Libby was dazed. “What qu-quandary?”

  “Which one,” Jess mused. “How like nature to offer two when a man has only one mouth.”

  Libby blushed hotly as Jess nuzzled a knotted peak, a peak that ached to nourish him. “Oh, God, Jess,” she whispered. “Take it…take it!”

  He chuckled, flicked the nipple in question with an impertinent tongue. “I love it when you beg.”

  Both rage and passion moved inside Libby. “I’m…not…begging!” she gasped, but even as she spoke she was bracing herself with her hands, brushing her breast back and forth across Jess’s lips, seeking admission.

  “You will,” he said, and then he caught the pulsing nipple between careful teeth, raking it to an almost unendurable state of wanting.

  “Not on your wretched life!” moaned Libby.

  “We’ll see,” he replied.

  The opposite breast was found and thoroughly teased and Libby had to bite her lower lip to keep from giving in and pleading senselessly for the suckling Jess promised but would not give. He played with her, using his tongue and his lips, delighting in the rocking motion of her body and the soft whimpers that came from her throat.

  The sweet torment became keener, and Libby both loved and hated Jess for being able to drive her to such lengths. “Make love to me…oh, Jess…make love…to me.”

  The concession elicited a hoarse growl from Jess, and Libby found herself spinning down to lie flat on the bed. Her remaining clothes were soon stripped away, her legs were parted.

  Libby gasped and arched her back as he entered her in one ferocious, needing thrust. After gaining this warm and hidden place, Jess paused, his hard frame shuddering with restraint.

  As bedazzled as she was, Libby saw her chance to set the pace, to take command, and she took it. Acting on an age-old instinct, she wrapped her legs around his hips in a fierce claiming and muttered, “Give me all of you, Jess—all of you.”

  He groaned in lusty surrender and plunged deep within her, seeking solace in the velvety heat of her womanhood. They were locked together for several glittering mo
ments, each afraid to move. Soon enough, however, their bodies demanded more and began a desperate, swift rhythm.

  Straining together, both moaning in fevered need, Libby and Jess reached their shattering pinnacle at the same moment, crying out as their two souls flared as one golden fire.

  Twice after Jess lay still upon her, his broad back moist beneath her hands, Libby convulsed softly, whimpering.

  “Some people are really greedy,” he teased when, at last, her body had ceased its spasmodic clenching and unclenching.

  Libby stretched, sated, cosseted in delicious appeasement. “More,” she purred.

  “What did I tell you?” Jess sighed. “The lady is greedy.”

  “Very.”

  He rolled, still joined with Libby, bringing her with him so that she once again sat astraddle of him. They talked, in hushed and gentle voices, of very ordinary things.

  After some minutes had passed, however, Libby began to trace his nipples with feather-light fingertips. “I’ve always wanted to have my way with the boss’s son,” she crooned, teasing him as he had teased her earlier.

  She bent forward, tasted those hardening nipples, each in turn, with only the merest flick of her tongue. Jess groaned and grew hard within her, by degrees, as she continued to torment him.

  “How like nature,” she gibed tenderly, “to offer two when a woman has only one mouth.”

  Jess grasped her hips in inescapable hands and thrust his own upward in a savage demand.

  Libby’s release came swiftly; it was soft and warm, rather than violent, and its passing left her free to bring Jess to exquisite heights. She set a slow pace for him, delighting in the look in his eyes, the back-and-forth motion of his head on the pillow, the obvious effort it took for him to lie still beneath her.

  He pleaded for release, but Libby was impervious, guiding him gently, reveling in the sweet power she held over this man she so completely loved. “I’m going to love you in my own way,” she told him. “And in my own time.”

  His head pressed back into the pillows in magnificent surrender, Jess closed his eyes and moaned. His control was awesome, but soon enough it slipped and he began to move beneath Libby, slowly at first and then quickly. Finally, his hands tangling in her hair, he cried out and his body spasmed as she purposely intensified his pleasure. His triumph seemed endless.

  When Jess was still at last, his eyes closed, his body glistening with perspiration, Libby tenderly stroked a lock of hair back from his forehead and whispered, “Some people are really greedy.”

  Jess chuckled and was asleep before Libby withdrew from him to make her way into the bathroom for a shower of her own.

  The dream was very sexy. In it, a blue-gray dawn was swelling at the bedroom windows and Libby’s breast was full in Jess’s hand, the nipple stroked to a pleading state.

  She groaned as she felt his hard length upon her, his manhood seeking to sheathe itself in her warmth. Jess entered her, and his strokes were slow and gentle, evoking an immediate series of tremulous, velvet-smooth responses.

  “Good,” she sighed, giving herself up to the dream. “So good…”

  The easy strokes became demanding thrusts. “Yes,” said the dream Jess gruffly. “Good.”

  “Ooooooh,” moaned Libby, as a sudden and piercing release rocked her, thrusting her into wakefulness.

  And Jess was there, upon her, his face inches from her own. She watched in wonder and in love as his features grew taut and his splendid body flexed, more rapidly now. She thrust herself up to receive the fullness of his love.

  Libby’s hands clasped Jess’s taut buttocks as he shuddered and delved deep, his manhood rippling powerfully within her, his rasping moan filling Libby’s heart.

  Minutes later, a languid, hazy sleep overtook Libby and she rolled over onto her stomach and settled back into her dreams. She stirred only slightly when Jess patted her derriere and left the bed.

  Hours later, when she awakened fully, Libby was not entirely certain that she hadn’t dreamed the whole gratifying episode. As she got out of bed, though, to take a bath and get dressed, Libby knew that Jess had loved her—the feeling of lush well-being she enjoyed was proof of that.

  The pampered sensation was short-lived. When Libby went downstairs to search out a light breakfast, she found Monica Summers sitting in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading a weekly newsmagazine.

  Even though Monica smiled, her dark gray eyes betrayed her malice. “Hello…Mrs. Barlowe.”

  Libby nodded uneasily and opened the refrigerator to take out an apple and a carton of yogurt. “Good morning,” she said.

  “I was very sorry to hear about your father,” Monica went on, the tone of her voice totally belying her expression. “Is he recovering?”

  Libby got a spoon for her yogurt and sat down at the table. “Yes, thank you, he is.”

  “Will you be staying here with us, or going back to Kalispell?”

  There was something annoyingly proprietary in the way Monica said the word “us,” as though Libby were somehow invading territory where she didn’t belong. She lifted her chin and met the woman’s stormy-sky gaze directly. “I’ll be going back to Kalispell,” she said.

  “You must hate leaving Jess.”

  The pit of Libby’s stomach developed an unsettling twitch. She took a forceful bite from her apple and said nothing.

  “Of course, I’ll be happy to…look after him,” sighed Monica, striking a flame to the fuse she had been uncoiling. “It’s an old habit, you know.”

  Libby suppressed an unladylike urge to fly over the table, teeth bared, fists flying. “Sometimes old habits have to be broken,” she said, sitting very still, reminding herself that she was a grown woman now, not the foreman’s little brat. Furthermore, she was Jess’s wife and she didn’t have to take this kind of subtle abuse in any case.

  Monica arched one perfect eyebrow. “Do they?”

  Libby leaned forward. “Oh, yes. You see, Ms. Summers, if you mess with my husband, I’ll not only break the habit for you, I’ll break a few of your bones for good measure.”

  Monica paled, muttered something about country girls.

  “I am not a girl,” Libby pointed out. “I’m a woman, and you’d better remember it.”

  “Oh, I will,” blustered Monica, recovering quickly. “But will Jess? That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  If there was one thing in the world Libby had absolutely no doubts about, at that moment anyway, it was her ability to please her husband in the way Monica was referring to. “I don’t see how he could possibly forget,” she said, and then she finished her apple and her yogurt, dropped the remnants into the trash, and left the room.

  Marion Bradshaw was sweeping away residual dried mud when Libby reached the screened porch, hoping for one glimpse of Jess before she had to go back to Kalispell.

  He was nowhere in sight, of course— Libby had not really expected him to be.

  “How’s Ken getting on?” Marion asked.

  Libby smiled. “He’s doing very well.”

  The housekeeper sighed, leaning on her broom. “Thank the good Lord for that. Me and Ken Kincaid run this place, and I sure couldn’t manage it alone!”

  Libby laughed and asked if Cathy was around.

  Sheer delight danced in Mrs. Bradshaw’s eyes. “She’s where she belongs—upstairs in her husband’s bed.”

  Libby blushed. She had forgotten how much this astute woman knew about the goings-on on the ranch. Did she know, too, why Jess had never gotten around to eating his dinner the night before?

  “No shame in loving your man,” Mrs. Bradshaw twinkled.

  Libby swallowed. “Do you know if Stacey went with the others this morning?”

  “He did. You go ahead and wake Miss Cathy right now, if you want to.”

  Libby was grateful for an excuse to hurry away.

  Finding Stacey’s room from memory, in just the way she’d found Jess’s, she knocked briskly at the closed door, realized the
foolishness of that, and turned the knob.

  Cathy was curled up like a kitten in the middle of a bed as mussed and tangled as the one Libby had shared with Jess.

  Libby bent to give Cathy’s bare shoulder a gentle shake. Her cousin sat up, mumbling, her face lost behind a glistening profusion of tangled hair. “Libby? What…?”

  Libby laughed and signed, “I’m going back to town as soon as I pick up some of my things at the other house. Do you want to go with me?”

  Cathy’s full lips curved into a mischievous smile and she shook her head.

  “Things are going well between you and Stacey, then?”

  Cathy’s hands moved in a scandalously explicit answer.

  “I’m shocked!” Libby signed, beaming. And then she gave her cousin a quick kiss on the forehead, promised to call Mrs. Bradshaw if there was any sort of change in Ken’s condition, and left the room.

  In Jess’s room she found paper and a pen, and probably because of the tempestuous night spent in his bed, dared to write, “Jess. I love you. Sorry I couldn’t stay for a proper goodbye, but I’ve got to get back to Dad. Take care and come to me if you can. Smiles and sunshine, Libby.”

  On the way downstairs, Libby almost lost her courage and ran back to rip up the note. Telling Jess outright that she loved him! What if he laughed? What if he was derisive or, even worse, pitying?

  Libby denied herself the cowardice of hiding her feelings any longer. It was time she took responsibility for her own emotions, wasn’t it?

  The weather was crisp and bright that day, and Libby hummed as she drove the relatively short distance to her father’s house, parked her car behind his truck and went in to get the things she needed.

  Fitting extra clothes and her special set of pens and inks into the back of the Corvette proved easy enough, but the drawing board was another matter. She turned it this way and that way and it just wouldn’t fit.

  Finally Libby took it back inside the house and left it there. She would just have to make do with the kitchen table at the condo for the time being.

  Libby was just passing the passenger side of Ken’s truck when she heard the sound; it was a sort of shifting rustle, coming from the direction of the lilac hedge on the far side of the yard. There followed a low, ominous grunt.